


30 Day OTP Challenge-Stanlon

by VeryLateTrash



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: 30 Day OTP Challenge, Also Audra and Bill, Angst, Cute, Different Genres, Fluff, Reddie and Benverly as background, Stanlon - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-01
Updated: 2018-04-28
Packaged: 2019-03-12 10:41:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 28,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13545669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VeryLateTrash/pseuds/VeryLateTrash
Summary: Prompt #2-Tea Party, this oughta be interestingAu where Georgie is fucking alive. I took the heights from the book in this one.





	1. Prompt 1: Healthy Start

Stan couldn't remember exactly when he started liking Mike. It was as if one day he was suddenly awakened in the middle of the night to the crazy conclusion that he liked Mike Hanlon. He was sure that wasn't actually the case.   
Stan knew that's not how that's supposed to work. His parents always told him that when he found some one-they actually always said some *girl*-it was because their-her-qualities would be something that he liked.   
And, that is admittedly very true for Mike Hanlon. Stan admired him because, well, Mike was a rock, and yet, soft at the sale time.  
Stan always felt so comfortable with him, able to talk to him about his problems and Mike was just-there. To listen. To nod and smile and tell him everything will be alright.  
And, Stan liked the fact that he can do the same for Mike. Mike was a very quiet, almost stoic person when it comes to his own emotions and problems.   
(Stan had admired that, as well, before he knew what Mike was like when he was talking-it was somehow even better.)  
Stan remembered when Mike first talked to him in a serious manner about himself. Not about the others or It or even Stan, just himself.  
They were sitting out by the quarry; Mike's legs were dangling over the edge of the cliff overlooking the water, and Stan was sitting cross legged beside him. Mike leaned back to rest on his arms behind him, and asked Stan, "So, you know about birds, right?"  
Stan's eyes lit up, of course. Anytime he could spend talking about birds was a good one. "Yeah." Stan's fingers methodically fiddled with the bird book he held dear to him, tucked carefully in a pocket of his khaki's.  
Mike said, a small frown on his features, "Well, I...-This was before I met you guys, before Bill made up the plan he wants us to do-I saw this big bird. It was black, I think, but it had these orange tufts on it. Do you know anything around here like that?"  
Stan's eyebrows furrowed in confusion, "No. Let me check." Stan flipped through the pages of his small book, looking under North American, Maine, to find the bird Mike had described. Stan looked up at Mike, face getting warmer with a twinge of embarrassment-how did he not know this bird, especially if it lived around here? Stan shrugged, "I guess I don't know it."  
Mike nodded, then fell silent again for a moment. "That's what my mom said when I asked her about it. She said that birds like that don't exist, not in these parts, anyway. That I'd just been thinking about a movie that I saw. You know, the one with the big bird; I think it was Japanese?"  
Stan shook his head at Mike's inquiry about the movie, but continued listening, anyway.   
Mike twiddled with his fingers, "You don't believe in all this, do you?"  
Stan tore his eyes away from Mike at that, looking at the ground instead, "I-I don't know, Mike. It can't be real, you know. It doesn't make sense. Like a bad dream." Stan hesitated, "But, I believe you...about the bird. And I guess I have to believe Bill about Georgie. It's just-It's hard."  
Mike nodded, then sat up enough that he could reach over and rest a gentle hand on Stan's shoulder.   
Stan guessed that maybe, if there really had to be an exact moment to choose, that that would be the one when he realised how much he liked Mike. He felt a bit bad about not spending as much time with Richie and Bill as usual, but even they had been distracted with a couple of people, so Stan guessed it was natural that he'd find someone to go to when they were off with Eddie and Bev.  
And that person happened to be Mike. Soft, gentle, steady, rock Mike.  
Stan's thoughts shifted from that moment when Mike spoke to him, "Stan? You okay?"  
Stan blinked, looking back at Mike, and smiled, "Yeah, just lost in thought."  
Mike returned the gesture, grinning wide and filling the room-and Stan-with a warm sensation. Mike's hand caught his, and he laughed slightly, "Oh, yeah? Thinking about someone else?" He teased.  
Stan rolled his eyes, a comeback spilling out of his mouth without him putting any thought into it, "Mhm. Richie's been on my mind."  
Mike chuckled at his cheeky comment, and gave his hand a light squeeze.  
Stan loved little actions like this, as they gave him a happy start to each day. He hoped he did the same for Mike.


	2. Tea Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #2-Tea Party, this oughta be interesting  
> Au where Georgie is fucking alive. I took the heights from the book in this one.

"L-Listen, Georgie...H-He really wants y-you guys there." Bill was talking to his friends, practically begging for them to join him in helping Georgie, "H-He's started p-putting everything o-out and is r-r-really ex-excited."  
Eddie and Bev both said their parents won't allow them to be out so late, and so they had to decline Bill and go home. Richie was all in, stating that he'll make this the best time Georgie's ever had. Ben was with his mother, as well, saying that she needed some help around the house, which I personally thought was really admirable of him.  
I had called my mom off of the house phone in Bill's place and she said that it was perfectly fine, and she was happy that I was making new friends in the town. I smiled at that, lucky to have such great parents, though I was a bit worried about my animals since I wouldn't be there to take care of them.   
Bill looked at Stan, who was anxiously calling his father. I noticed the little tics and fidgets he had when on the phone with him; Stan's pointer finger was tapping against his palm in an odd rhythm-he'd tap three times, pause, then tap again. It was perplexing and yet somehow also infatuating.  
Stan sighed, putting the phone back on its place of holding, "Dad said I can, but I'll have to do a bunch of chores when I get back." Stan shrugged, rolling his eyes a bit, and went back to my side.  
Bill nodded, giving us a slightly apologetic smile, "C-C'mon upstairs, g-g-guys."  
We followed Bill upstairs. Well, Stan and I did. Richie was already halfway up the stairs, a large grin painted on his face. He set his hands on his hips, leaning down to talk to an excited Georgie, who was bouncing up and down in a long, yellow sweater and a pair of light pink shorts.  
Richie walked into Georgie's small, circus themed room, and we followed suit. Seeing the noirette playfully sitting in one of the small, kid-sized chairs that Georgie had set out, I considered how good of a father he might make.  
Bill sat down next to Georgie, long legs nearly up to his chest as he sank into the short chair.  
Stan was just a bit shorter than the redhead, and so he decided to sit cross-legged on the floor. I was short for my age, only 5'7'', and so it wasn't as big a deal for me.  
Georgie smiled wide, "Anyone want tea?" He held up a plastic tea pitcher expectantly.   
Bill raised his hand, and Georgie poured the fake tea into Bill's bright pink cup. Bill laughed, "Th-Thanks, G-G-Georgie."  
Richie gave out a woot, "I'll have some, kiddo. Tea is just so... chuckalicious."  
Georgie giggled and poured some into Richie's cup, which was red and covered with stickers of turtles.  
I apparently came next, as Georgie was already pouring some for me, an invisible liquid in my yellow cup. Georgie said, "Billy told me your favorite colour is yellow! Mine, too!"  
I returned his bright smile, "Thanks, Georgie."  
"Welcome!" He responded simply.  
Stan was somehow surprised when Georgie came to him next, and he gave the kid an odd smile that meant: I don't know why we're doing this. He participated, anyway.  
Georgie gave Stan a pat on the head, at which I laughed. Stan turned to me, eyes narrowed slightly, and I responded by repeating Georgie's action, patting Stan's head, then ruffling his soft, curly hair.  
He rolled his eyes, which was his weird way of playing along with me.   
Richie gave out a low whistle, "Geez, get a room. This is a classy tea party." He then preceded to sip at the air from his cup with a serious expression that I was sure should earn him an Oscar.  
Stan shot back at him, "Then why are you at it?"  
Richie gasped, putting a hand over his mouth, "I'm classier than any of you-except for Georgie, of course." Richie tipped his imaginary hat toward the kid, who grinned, showing one of his missing teeth.  
Stan moved to rest his chin on my thigh, fiddling with his hands under the table. I ran another hand through his hair, then moved it down to rest on his cheek.   
Stan smiled up at me, and this time, it was one of his genuine ones, though there was still that flash of lovely dryness in his eyes, "Drink your tea, Hanlon."  
I snorted, "Drink yours, Stanley."  
Bill cut in, "M-Ma-Maybe we can all have a t-toast together. Wh-What do you th-think, Georgie?"  
Georgie nodded, raising up his glass, "To, um, what is it to?"  
Richie stood, one foot on his chair and the other balancing midair, "To the Losers! And Georgie, honorary eighth member!" He paused, holding out a finger to stop anyone from 'drinking', "Even though half these assholes didn't show up today." He waved his hand, "Proceed."  
We all, even Stan, took a sip from the cups Georgie set out for us.   
Georgie went around and refilled our cups, skipping around the table to hug Bill around the shoulders.   
My attention was taken away from the two brothers when Stan stood to do the same to me. I tilted my head upward to look at him, standing over me.   
Richie commentated, "And now we see Stanley the Manly wanting attention. Wants does Mike 'n Ike do next?"  
Stan replied, "Beep beep, Richie," but continued hugging me.   
I smiled, looking around at my friends being happy together. I made a mental note to thank Georgie when we left for the tea party, and the time he gave us.


	3. Prompt 3: Cuddling

Stan had decided to hang out around my family's farm today. He's been insisting on helping out recently, but I'm sure I know why. The land around the farm has always been an attraction for birds around Derry. They came in flocks, chirping back and forth to each other.   
Stan's eyes would get so wide when one of them made themselves known. He'd mumble the species of the bird under his breath, and a slight smile would light up his face.   
He'd catch my gaze-which was focused on him and the light glinting in his pretty brown eyes-and he'd return to feeding one of the sheep.  
I was certain that's why he helped out. The farm is a place full of animals that didn't follow organization and germs and dirt that I knew Stan detested. So why, of all people, would he come over to our farm if not to appreciate the birds' beauty.   
The day was ending too quickly, as the sun was setting down on the farm, streaking the sky with pinks and oranges. The last bit of light was draining from the earth and the sky began to be spotted with little white stars.  
I knew how much Stan despised the dark, for whatever reason. I went up to the brunette, slinging an arm around his shoulder, "My dad said you can stay over for the night, if you want."  
Stan gave him a slight side smile, "Sure."  
My dad had strong-nice, but strong-opinions of my friends.  
He's met all of them by now, and always says they're good kids, good friends to me, but he and my mother both have taken a special liking to Stan.   
He's always so polite and mannerly. They see that as a sign he's being respectful toward them, while I know that's just how Stan is. He's more of an adult than some adults I know.  
My mom greeted him with a wave. She was wearing a large smile and offered him something to eat, to which he declined ever so politely, stating that he'd already had food from his house and wouldn't want to intrude.  
I, however, stole some cookies and a kiss on the cheek from my mom. Stan snickered a bit, and I just grinned, walking to my room with him.  
Stan stood over my bed, apparently organizing it so that the sheets fit well and the pillows I had were evenly distributed. I chuckled quietly. He's so perfect in his quirky way.  
Stan turned to me, tapping his foot-another habit of his that turned into a tic-"Where do I sleep?"  
I approached the bed, sitting down, "Well, Mr. Uris, if it's alright with you, I thought we could share my bed." I didn't see the problem with it. We've been friends for a year now and we've been through quite a bit. Not to mention the fact that we both already know that we like each other, though I haven't pushed the subject any further.   
Stan's face showed the inner turmoil he was feeling. His lips became a bit more pursed and his eyes flitted downward. In moments like these, he looks especially older than what he is.  
I didn't want to make him uncomfortable, so I proposed another plan, "Or, you can have the bed and I can sleep on the daybed."  
Stan's eyes went back to me, so I relaxed a bit, "No, this is fine," he assured, but he was still anxious, I could see.  
I scooted over to the side near the wall, so he could have the side of the bed nearest the west-that one I can't explain. Stan's tried to explain it to me before, but, for me, it really boiled down to that that's the side he likes, so I let him have it.  
Stan moved somewhat mechanically next to me. He laid his head down on the pillow, and I could tell he was fully conscious of his every movement.   
He was facing me, but he seemed to be trying to look everywhere else but at me. His eyes were downcast, focused on his hands-fingers intertwined together. He was trying to look engaged in picking at a hangnail.   
I realized neither of us would be able to fall asleep if this kept up. "Stan?"  
His eyes slowly drifted up to hover somewhere just over my shoulder. I sighed, and moved my arm from beneath a blanket to rest on his arm, "Hey, are you feeling okay?"  
Stan's eyes met mine again, and I smiled. I saw a slight smirk raise up one side of his mouth and I felt a million times lighter. Stan shrugged, "I just don't want to bother you or anything."  
I raised a brow, "You never bother me." I felt him get a bit closer to me.   
Stan's eyes read doubt, but he caught my hand. I was relieved, and squeezed his hand. Stan sighed, and I moved my free arm to wrap around his torso.   
He was a bit surprised by the action, but learned forward and pressed his forehead to my chest, bringing our hands up to rest beside his head.  
He had a free hand, and so he pulled up the blanket that I'd tossed away earlier.  
A felt a huff of breath against my shoulder, "This isn't that comfy, Mike." He looked up at me, a slight smile lighting up his face, but one of his eyes was closed awkwardly and he looked squished.  
His long legs were oddly placed, as well.   
I nodded, moving my arm from around his torso, and moved instead to where my face was in the crook of his neck. He seemed a bit surprised, but loosened up, able to spread out his limbs now.   
He hooked one leg over both of mine, and caught my hand again. I grinned, and I could tell he was happy.   
I can't remember when exactly I fell asleep, but Stan's blurry face, flushed bright red, was the last thing I saw before drifting off.


	4. Prompt 4: Potterverse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to mix and match with different prompt lists, so prompt 4 is: Potterverse.

Stan was on his way to a place that he'd only ever heard of from his parents. His father was a pure blood, but his mother was only half blood. He was considered to be rather high up in the wizarding community because of his good bloodline, though some vehemently opposed his father being with his mother due to her less pure bloodline.  
Stan didn't really care this way or that-he just wanted to learn more about the wizarding world. He was excited to learn about spells and potions and all the animals his mother had told him about.  
Stan was already sitting in his choice of seating, as he'd gotten to the Hogwarts Express long before the other kids started piling in.  
Stan was reading a section of his book on birds of the Muggle and Wizarding world, when someone tapped his shoulder. Stan looked up to see his friend Richie leaning against the doorway to the little section Stan was in, "Mind if I sit?"  
Stan rolled his eyes at his old friend's horrible accent, "You're going to, anyway."  
Richie grinned, "True, true." He sat, arms folded behind his head, "So, ready for the school? I heard there's this nine foot giant that greets us and he lives with all these weird ass creatures."  
Stan pursed his lips, "That'd be the groundskeeper, Rich. I've heard about him."  
Richie shrugged, then switched the topic again, "So, what house do you think you're gonna be put in?" Richie had been taught all about this, too, seeing as his parents had both gone to Hogwarts before. They were both Gryffindors, so Stan was sure Rich would be put in there, too.  
Stan shrugged, "Probably Ravenclaw. I read a lot, so maybe that'll count as a feature."  
Richie pouted, "But I wanna be in the same house as you!"  
Stan looked up at Richie, who was slumped over animatedly, elbows resting on his thighs, "We'll still be able to hang out, Rich." Stan felt a twinge of the same remorse Richie was expressing; he really liked spending time with him-they were best friends, after all.  
Richie's face lit up again, "Ya think?"  
Stan nodded, "Yeah. And we don't even know for sure what houses we'll be sorted in."  
The rest of the ride to Hogwarts was somewhat uneventful. They met a pure blood named Bill, who's only fault was his stutter, as well as a boy much shorter than the rest who rambled on about learning different spells and how he hoped he'd learn one to fix his asthma.  
Stan's private seating section was soon filled up, needless to say.  
The scenery was stunning. As soon as Stan left the train, his eyes were graced with the beauty of the place. It was as if there was a spell on the place that somehow made the blues of the lake richer, the grass greener, the stars in the sky twinkle brighter.  
The giant-Hagrid, they learned-led them to the lake, where they took several small boats to cross it. (Eddie said that he could've sworn he'd seen someone swimming around in there.)  
The castle was somehow even more enchanting. It was as if it were shining with gold and silver. The sky shone candescently through the ceiling-or was there a ceiling at all?-Stan wasn't sure.  
They were led by a professor with pursed, thin lips and grey hair to line up just outside the large auditorium-like room.  
One by one their names were called. Out of Stan's new small group, Bill went first. The Sorting Hat just barely grazed his head, when it bellowed out, "Gryffindor!" The table full of people wearing red and gold boomed to life with clapping and cheers.   
Some other kids went, and they were all announced to be what Stan had immediately thought they'd be from first glance. Some kid with a snarky expression? Slytherin. A smaller girl with big, hopeful eyes? Hufflepuff. A boy who was a bit chubby shuffled across the raised platform and sat anxiously. Stan could tell he was studying the room, and guessed correctly that he'd be a Ravenclaw. The boy, who's name had been announced earlier as Ben, made his way to sit with the rest of the people in blue and bronze.  
Stan heard another boy's named being called. Mike Hanlon. Stan continued his little guessing game. He looks somewhat strong, kind of broad shouldered-at least more than the rest of the group. That suggests hard work, which made Stan consider Slytherin or Ravenclaw. He had a face that seemed to glow a bit in a weird, natural way. He was beaming, which made Stan change his guess to Hufflepuff, maybe. But he lacked the nerves that many of the first years had when called to the Sorting Hat, so he'd possibly even be a Gryffindor. Stan was at a loss with this one.  
Curious, he listened carefully to the Hat's decision. Even it seemed to be at a halt, stating the Mike was proving to be an enigma.   
It declared too loudly that Mike was Muggle born, which made a few select kids scrunch up their noses. Mike held an even, calm expression.   
The Hat muttered some, and Stan caught a few key phrases, "Kind-hearted, maybe Hufflepuff. But, smart and bookish enough for...Hmm...Ravenclaw!"  
The table of blue roared to life again, cheering Mike in as he sat next to the boy-Ben-from before. They seemed to know each other.  
Eddie came next, being proclaimed as headstrong and cunning, even stating that he was a bit manipulative to his mother since she'd initially forbade him to go to Hogwarts. To Stan's slight surprise, (slight because what he'd seen from Eddie, the kid had a tongue on him), Eddie was announced as a Slytherin. Eddie shrugged, going to the table full of green and silver.  
A girl named Beverly went after a few others, joining Bill in Gryffindor. Richie was the next to go in their group, leaving Stan to be the very last to go. Why did his last name have to start with a 'u'?  
Richie grinned as the Hat flopped on his head, leaning to one side. It decided he was brave, and smart enough, it mentioned, to be in Gryffindor, just as Stan thought. Richie bounded down the steps, throwing his arm around Bill, and beamed.   
Stan was the very last kid to be sorted, which brought a special kind of anxiety upon him. Everyone-every last person in the building-would be watching him as his brain in picked through.  
The Hat was set on his curls, and he heard it mutter in his ears. Something about being smart and odd. Stan couldn't deny that-he did have some oddities about him. It declared that he, just as he thought, was a Ravenclaw.   
He sat on the last seat on the long bench, right next to the other first years.   
They ate, and Stan was surprised that it was just as the stories said; the food just appeared in front of you.   
The Ravenclaw perfect, a tall, brunette boy wearing glasses on the edge of his nose led them up long flights of stairs, up the tower where he said the dormitories were.  
An eagle door knocker spoke to them, which made Stan tilt his head in slight surprise, "First day, so this riddle will be an easy classic. What has four legs in the morning, two at noon, and three in the evening?"  
The perfect had a smirk on his face when he opened his mouth to answer. Ben, who was standing beside Stan, blurted out, "It's man!"   
The perfect turned to him, a look of annoyance on his face. Ben apologized quietly, and the eagle knocker just cawed, the door opening by its will.  
Stan immediately liked the dorm's style. It was simple and tidy. A circular room with large bookcases and chairs to read in. There were beds, light blue and white, that were separated by the bookcases and bedside tables.   
Stan smiled, a corner of his mouth rising, in approval.  
The perfect nodded, "This'll be you boy's dorm for the year. Now, if you excuse me, I have other duties to attend to while you get yourselves situated."  
Stan noticed that his trunk was already at the foot of one bed, and so he went to it, carefully unpacking a bedsheet he'd brought from home.   
As Stan started to redo the bed to his liking, a soft voice asked him, "I don't think the house elves they have here will like that."  
Stan turned to see the Mike boy sitting on his bed cross legged. He was smiling, but it was a bit cautious. Stan replied whilst working, "How did you know about the house elves?" *I thought your parents were Muggles*, was the thought Stan had implied, but didn't state it.  
Mike seemed to understand, "They're non-magic, yeah, but my dad's sister was. She taught me a lot about all this."  
Stan nodded, and once he was done, he set the bedsheets that had been on the bed to the side, "You don't think they'll actually be upset?"  
Mike saw the twinge of anxiety Stan held, "No. I'm sure it'll be okay."  
Stan nodded, sitting on his bed. He tapped his foot, unsure of what to do.  
Mike reassured him, "So, your parents are both magic?"  
Stan's gaze softened a bit, "Yes. My dad's a pure blood, actually. He expects a lot, saying I have more abilities because of it, but I don't know."  
Mike hummed thoughtfully, "I don't think there should be any greater expectations. I mean, is there a such thing as being "fully or half magical"? It's really just you are or you aren't, for me. We're all learning together, after all."  
Stan smiled fully, "I guess you're right."   
Ben sat on Mike's bed next to him, "Yeah. My mom's a witch, but my dad was a Muggle. She doesn't think I'll be as good because of it."  
Mike reached over to ruffle Ben's hair, "You'll do fine, Ben."  
Ben smiled, then waved at Stan, "Hi."  
He was short spoken, that's for sure, Stan considered about Ben, "Hi," Stan responded shortly as well.  
Mike laid back on his bed, eyes closed and smiling, "This'll be a good year," Stan's heart skipped a beat when he saw the light dusting of freckles on Mike's forearms and cheeks that he must've gotten from whatever work in the sun he does, "I can feel it, can't you?"  
Stan nodded, a slight pink on his cheeks, "Yeah," his voice cracked, "I can."


	5. Prompt 5: First Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit. I'm actually able to do fluff now???

My heart is pounding in my chest. I'm standing in front of my open closet, wanting to just crawl underneath the rack of clothing, shut the door, and hide in there for an eternity. But I can't. I have to be able to go through with this. It's not that this is making me uncomfortable, really, it's just-I'm so nervous. I know myself. Somehow, I'm going to screw this up. Maybe it'll be as soon as Mike comes to my door. I'll lose control of my hands and slam it in his face. Maybe it'll be later, when we're out doing whatever it is he has planned, and I'll either knock over a drink, or yell too loud during some horror movie causing an earthquake to break open the ground beneath us, and I'll be on one side and Mike'll be on the other.   
Or maybe I'll try and kiss his cheek, but my nose will be too sharp and I'll poke him instead.   
Yes, I know. I'm being ridiculous, but I can't breathe right now. I have about ten minutes before Mike said he'll be over, and I'm still struggling to figure out what to wear. He wasn't specific on what we're doing, so I can't decide on whether to wear something formal or not.   
What if I wear a blazer and we're just going to see a movie? What if I wear a regular polo shirt and we're going to dinner? I doubt Mike would care, but everyone around us will, and they're going to judge me. And Mike for being with me.  
My mom knocks on my door, poking her head in, "Stanley? Need any help?"  
I turn to her, and she gives me a sympathetic smile, "Nervous?"  
She pushes a stray curl, (after all the time I spent trying to flatten my hair, a few strands always come loose), and moves to go to my closet. "I'm sure whoever your date is, she'll love whatever you wear."  
Right. I haven't told her or my father who I'm going out with tonight. I sigh, 'How brilliant am I?', I think to myself.  
She picks out one of my button down shirts-a pale blue one-and some slacks, "Here. This way you're ready for anything."  
I give her a slight smile, and go to the bathroom connected to my room to change. I work on some last minute details-mostly trying to fix my hair and the cuffs of my shirt- before my mom calls up to me that, "...your date is at the door, Stanley!"  
I breathe a sigh of relief. Maybe I can open the door before her and she'll not know yet. I'm such an idiot about this.  
I walk quickly downstairs, and open the door. All the breath that I'd lost earlier suddenly came back to my lungs. I step outside, closing the door behind me.  
Mike's dressed in a pair of jeans and a yellow sweater that fits him nicely. He smiles, "Ready to go?"  
I nod. My heart is still pounding, but in a way I can handle. He smiles, and takes my hand.   
I've gotten taller than him in the years we've known each other. I'm actually the second tallest in our group of seven, right after Bill. Mike's still the same height as Beverly, and it's, well, cute.   
I look down at him, "So, where to?"  
He gives me a soft grin, "I thought we'd do as much as Derry has to offer."  
I reply sarcastically, "That isn't much."  
Mike laughs, "That's true, if you don't have friends like ours." He winks at me, and my suspicions only grow.  
We make it to our usual spot at the quarry, and I'm mildly confused. Anything with Mike I know will be great, but this contradicts what he just said...  
Until I see it. Or should I say, I see him. Richie pops up from our secret hiding place that Ben had helped us build, (it's underground, and a great place to hide from Bowers' gang; Ben had made it so that the cover to it is on hinges and is invisible to anyone who doesn't know it's there). Richie grins, wearing a big red bowtie and exclaims in a bad French accent, "Bonjour, monsieurs! Mikey here requested my assistance in making this night utterly, how you say, magical!" Enter the stupid French-sounding snickering here. "Come. Mademoiselle Beverly will be your waitress."  
I hear Mike laugh beside me, hand still in mine, and I can't help but give Richie a sideways smile.  
Beverly wears the same big bowtie Richie does, along with a bow in her hair.  
She says, "So, Rich and I don't know how to make much, but we tried. By the way, I kind of want to steal this idea one day."   
Mike replies with a smile, "Just make sure that you let me help with it, Bev."  
While we were talking to Bev, Richie had set up a table and chairs. He sits down plates of spaghetti that overflowed.  
I snort, and sit down across the small table from Mike. He's covering his mouth with his fist, laughing. A light blush crosses his face, bringing out some of the light freckles he'd gotten from all the sun he gets working on a farm.  
We eat, and I laugh despite myself because, wow, they really can't cook. "Rich, I don't think spaghetti is supposed to be crunchy."  
"That's how my Eddie Spaghetti is! All salty and mean."  
Beverly rolls her eyes, smiling, "On to the movie section of the evening!"  
I raise an eyebrow, and Mike shrugs, "I kinda let them have free reign on what they'd be able to do."  
Mike and I stand, following Beverly and Richie to where Eddie and Bill are setting up Bill's projector. Richie carries the two chairs to sit in front of a sheet that Eddie hung up, "My mom actually let me borrow it, surprisingly."  
I take one of the chairs away from Richie and set it down next to the other one. I don't know what they have planned, but I want to be able to sit next to Mike this time.  
Mike sees this, and sits next to me, catching my hand for what seems to be the thousandth time, but I'm not complaining.  
Bill and Eddie are both wearing those ridiculous bowties. Bill says, "S-So, f-for the s-second part of th-the day, E-Eh-Eddie and I w-went through all o-of the photos w-we have a-as a group, and, I-I guess we'll j-just let you watch it." He gives us a nice smile, and presses play on the projector.  
It's a nice show of memories from all the years they'd known each other. I feel Mike's shoulder brushing mine, and I'm suddenly fully aware of our friends being there.   
The slideshow ends, and I feel light. Lighter and more at ease than I've felt in a really long time. I feel Mike rubbing his thumb over my knuckles, and I let out a small sigh of content.  
Richie throws his arms around my shoulders, "One last thing, Stanny!" I look up to see Ben come out from behind the sheet. He smiles shyly, "I wasn't sure exactly what to do, so my part was, um, well," Ben rubs the back of his neck, "I talked with Mike and-Together, we decided that the last bit should be more of a surprise."   
Ben gestures with his head to the hideout, and we venture back to it. Ben lifts the cover, and Mike goes down first.  
I climb down after him, and am greeted with the small space to be lit up with Christmas lights.   
There's a blanket spread on the floor-which was just patted down dirt-and a basket in the middle.  
Mike smiles, "Ben and I made some actual food earlier. That's what took me so long, to be honest." He gazes around, "The rest of it was all Ben."  
I shake my head, grinning so wide that it almost hurt. I could cry so easily. "This is great, Mike. You did so great."   
He squeezes my hand, and then lets go to start unpacking the basket. Before he could, I throw my arms around his shoulders, and bury my face in the crook of his neck. He freezes for just a second, not expecting that, and for a moment, I think that this is where I mess up. I knew I would mess up somewhere, and this seems to be it.  
But, then his arms go around my back, returning the embrace, and all those negative thoughts are pushed away.  
We stay in the hideout Ben made so long ago when we were just thirteen. Our friends leave much earlier than we do, and I'm just so happy. So happy to be with Mike in this literal sanctuary.   
He glows in the soft light and I think that this is the most perfect night I could've ever dreamt of. Not because of what I'm wearing, or where we went, but because it was spent with all the people I love.   
And it ends with Mike. Mike, who quietly says that I look ethereal.   
Mike, who knows that I think the same of him.   
Mike, who I'd spend a thousand more nights like this with.   
Mike, who makes me like I could float away, but holds me close enough so that I'm able to stay on solid ground.


	6. Prompt 6: Drawing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oof. I tried to make this prompt work. Sorry if it's messy plot-wise.

'I was sort of the artist in our group. My friends were always excited to see my art, especially Beverly. Really, Beverly and Richie were the ones that tended to go through my sketchbooks and tell me all about how much they liked it. Most of the others in our group were more quiet, (except for Eddie, but he was usually arguing with something Richie said), and just told me that my art looks nice, to which I'd reply with a 'th-thanks' and a smile.  
As far as I know, the others didn't really partake in art. None of them. Ben wrote poetry, I think, and would sometimes sketch out something he wanted to build, but not even he really drew like I do.   
So, my surprise was within reason when one of my closest friends, Stan, came to my room one day, asking for drawing lessons.  
He'd already even bought a sketchbook of his own, and was clutching it to his chest. A pencil balanced precariously on his ear, and I wondered if it was stuck through one of his curls.  
He sat on my bed, "Bill, can you do something for me?"  
I nodded, eyebrows furrowed as I tried to figure out why he was acting so nervous and odd, "Wh-What's wrong, St-Stan?"  
He looked at me, a hint of ambition in his eyes, "Can you teach me how to draw, Bill?"  
I gave him a confused expression, frowning a bit, "Wh-Why?"  
Stan's face turned lightly pink. He froze as he reached for his pencil, and stuttered out, "I... It's for someone."  
I could see right through him, despite his efforts to maintain stoic. I pushed his shoulder lightly, "S-S-Someone y-you like?"  
He gave me a deadpan expression, one which read, 'Don't push it.' I put up my hands slightly in a bit of mock surrender, "Okay. Well, I-I'll he-help you. I-I'll try, a-anyway."  
I got up and went to my desk, shuffling around to find some paper and a few drawing pencils for myself and for Stan. I gave him the pencils, and briefly instructed him to draw something he liked, "A-A bird. Y-You like birds, s-so start w-with that. P-Passion br-brings out creativity."  
Stan nodded, and fumbled as he held the pencil to paper. He was focusing perhaps too hard, so I told him to try and loosen up.  
Stan took a while-I produced three portraits by the time he was finished-but he ended up with a fairly good looking bird. It was light and carefully drawn. There was a couple of issues with the claws, but otherwise, it was nice.   
I smiled, "G-Great job, St-Stan. W-Want to try another?"  
He tapped his foot on the floor anxiously, but nodded again, "What do you want me to draw now?"  
I considered the question, then prompted him with another, "W-Well, wh-who exactly is th-this for, and f-for what oc-occa-occasion?"  
The very tip of Stan's nose began to turn bright red; his cheeks and forehead were pink, contrasting against the purple circles under his eyes, "It's for this stupid class project. Mrs. Jones said we had to do some art thing about someone that means a lot to us, and-" his eyes were focused on the ground, "-I kinda thought I'd do it for Mike." He twiddled his thumbs. There was a thought he was holding back, and it'd take some coaxing for me to be able to bring it out of him.  
I just gave him a smile, "O-Okay, well what a-are you dr-drawing for the project?"  
Stan's shoulders tensed up, "That's the thing. I don't know. I'm not exactly creative with this kind of shit."  
I shrugged, "C-Calm down. Y-You'll fi-figure it out. Wh-Why not just d-draw...L-Like, I draw B-Buh-Bev because I like her, s-so why not try and dr-draw him? I-I could help you."  
Stan's eyes lit up a bit, and he lifted his chin, "You'd do that?"  
My smile grew, "Y-Yeah, of course. Wh-When's it d-due?"  
Stan's bit of snarkiness came back, and he said with a hint of nervousness, "Tomorrow."  
I sighed. Of course. Pride would've had him do everything he could to avoid asking me for help with it, until the very last minute. "O-Okay. G-Get me a canvas."  
The night was filled with me guiding Stan's hand to try and shape Mike's features, and after a few tries, it ended up pretty good looking. I then gave him some paints and gave him some time to paint the portrait. He needed to be able to do it, after all.   
Stan turned to me when it was finished, a nervous wreck, "Is it good enough? I'm really not good at this."  
I reassured him, "I-I'm sure it'll get y-you an A." I set aside the painting and sat beside him on the floor, my back leaning against my bed, "S-So," I threw him a slight smirk, "A-Are you g-going t-to show Mike, o-or an-anyone else, f-for that matter?"  
Stan glanced back at his painting, and then to me, "I don't know. I still don't think I'm-i-it's good enough."  
My eyes went wide, but I decided to not press the issue that just presented itself, "O-Okay. Hey, wanna st-stay the night? S-Since we a-already w-went past c-curfew."  
Stan nodded, "Sure."   
...  
The next day, Stan carried the portrait under his arm. I heard him muttering under his breath, something about hoping noone saw him.  
I gave him a pat on the back, and he sent a forced smile my way, then nodded to me and my mother as we stepped out of her car and went to out separate first hours.  
He told me he was going to drop off his painting before he went to his first class, and that was the end of it.  
I wasn't sure whether or not he'd share what he'd done with any of the others, and I suppose that's his business. But it didn't look bad, and I know Mike would love i-  
"Denbrough, are you paying attention?" My teacher caught me day dreaming, and I nodded, "Y-yes, m-m-m..." The words got stuck in my throat, and so I just quit talking.  
The day was a short one; each hour was spent in my own daydreams and curiosities. Lunch came and went. I love spending lunch with my friends, though it's admittedly gotten a bit more melancholy over the past years. We always tried to keep it lighthearted, especially Richie, who was always running his hands through Eddie's hair and cracking jokes.  
Stan was always quiet, occasionally shooting back a funny comment at one of Richie's jokes, to which Richie would proclaim, "Stanley Uris Gets Out A Good One!"  
Today he was especially quiet, though. He seemed to be contemplating something. I nudged him, "Wh-What's up, S-Stan?"  
He sighed, "So, I, um, in my presentation for third hour, I sort of..." Stan's cheeks went back to that rosy red, "I might've shared too much."  
I raised my brows, "You didn't t-tell them you w-were...with h-him?"  
A smile, one that seemed pure and totally un-Stan like swept across his face, "Yeah, I did. And Hockstetter was in my class, and I'm sure he's making plans to chase after me with Bowers, but holy shit, Bill, it felt kind of nice."  
Stan's bit of happiness was a disease that spread through our table like the black plague, "Th-That's great, St-Stan."  
Stan nodded, "I mean, don't get me wrong. I'm fucking terrified, and I don't want Mike to get targeted by them any more than he is, but..." Stan stopped tapping his foot, "I'm going to tell him about it after school." The bell that signals the end of lunch rang, and Stan left with a, "Thanks for the lessons, Bill."  
...  
I've never had a phone call from Stan that lasted more than a few minutes, but I guess this last couple of days have been full of surprises, because he called my house phone and talked to me for almost an hour on how it went telling Mike about his project.  
I've also never heard him so happy. He reminded me of the first time I saw Beverly, and then later, when I first met Audra. (She'd been auditioning for a school play, but that's a story for another time.)  
He said he was calling from the Hanlon farm, which made sense-his parents never let him stay on the phone for this long, nor did they let him use it for anything but school related calls.  
He said he had to go, as his parents wanted him back by seven, but he thanked me again.  
I bid him a quick goodbye. Stan was an enigma, but he was also one of my beat friends. I looked around at my paints and other assorted art supplies, then smiled. I made my friend happy, and that's what I cared about. That's what filled my chest with pride.'

Bill took off his glasses, and set them on top of his head. He'd written that short story as a filler in between a couple of chapters of the book he was writing. He couldn't quite figure out where the inspiration for that came from, but it gave him a nice, somehow nostalgic feeling.  
Bill rubbed his eyes, then went back to bed, where his wife, Audra, had already fallen asleep. He brushed a few strands of hair out of her face, and planted a kiss to her forehead, warm with a fever that she'd caught.   
Bill drifted to sleep soon after, his last conscious thought being that the characters he just wrote about seemed all too real-perhaps people from long ago in a childhood memory that'd been suppressed-and he hoped if they were, they were happy, maybe even happy together.  
The thought pulled Bill into a light, dreamless sleep.


	7. Prompt 7: Meet the Parents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Man, my plots are getting out of hand for these little prompts.

Stan was nearing his senior year of high school, and he expressed openly about how much he wanted to leave Derry, leave Maine, even. He'd been accepted to go to a university in Georgia, and even had a scholarship to it. I'm not surprised, really. He's a studious person and he never lets his grades fall below a B-and even then, he's constantly working to bring it back up to an A. He even takes the harder classes that they offer; it amazes me how he's able to handle that stress.  
Me, well, I do some studying on my own. My granddad would teach me some arithmetics here and there, but it's not enough to go off to college. Besides, my family can't afford that kind of expense, and they need help around the farm. It's okay. I never considered leaving Derry until I met my friends, anyway.  
I guess that's the problem. I met them, and now, one by one, they're all going to be leaving. Richie, believe it or not, is a straight A student and is going to California. Bill got accepted to a school in England for journalism....  
And there's Stan, all the way in Georgia. I didn't want to hold him back, but it's going to be harder, lonelier, here without him.  
I guess that's why he suggested what he did. And his wide, excited eyes were definitely why I was going through with his plan.   
He wanted, nearing his last few months in Derry, to finally formally introduce me to his parents. Was it a bit rash? Yes, and I was completely surprised when Stan came to me with the idea. Was it a bit painful? To get to finally know these people after all the time, to get them to know who I am to Stan, right before he leaves off? Yes. It was, but it made Stan happy, and it gave him the pride he needed to be able to tell them who he's been seeing.   
And that's all I really care about.  
He did ask me if it was okay, and of course I said yes.   
So, I wore one of my sweaters and a button up underneath it, trying to look my best for his parents, but I was feeling a bit sluggish as I biked my way to his house.  
He didn't give me much information and quite frankly, I was nervous.  
I knocked on Stan's door, almost immediately greeted with Stan, who's hair flopped over one side of his forehead, curls bouncing a bit as he pulled me in for a hug.  
He led me inside, closing the door behind us. I looked to him, "So, what's the plan exactl-"  
Stan's mother cut me off, coming out with raised eyebrows, "Who's this?"  
Stan gave me a short nudge, silently indicating for me to talk. I gave her a smile, "Hi, ma'am, I'm Mike Hanlon." I reached out to shake her hand, and I could see her eyes grow a bit lidded in realization, and to my slight surprise, she returned my smile, and took my hand.  
I met Stan's eyes, who didn't seem shocked at all by her acceptance. Rather, he seemed somewhat relaxed, corner of his mouth twisted into his famous little smirk.  
Mrs. Uris then gestured toward the couch, "Have a seat." I felt much more at ease having the initial awkwardness set aside, and sat, Stan close enough beside me that our shoulders touched, and his knees were pressed against one of my legs, his awkwardly long somewhat adjacent to mine.  
Mrs. Uris sat on a recliner, hands folded in her lap, "My husband is making some food at the moment. He'll come in to talk to you after he's done."  
I wasn't quite sure what to say or do; I'd never done this sort of thing before-for that matter, I'd never really *been* with anyone before.  
Stan's mother didn't seem to know exactly what to do, either, and the atmosphere became a bit stiff. "Stanley? What exactly did you want to talk about?"  
Stan bit his lip, "I, um, I was thinking about some things. You see, Mom, I-"  
His father entered, then, and got the sudden feeling of what it was like to be a small animal, being circled by a hawk that was watching, desperately eyeing it for a weak point so that it can strike.  
He sat in a chair next to Mrs. Uris, "So, this is who Stan's with?" He had one eyebrow raised, causing his forehead to become wrinkled. He was waiting for an answer, but I wasn't sure how to respond without rambling-I really didn't want to make the first impression by being pedantic.   
Stan caught his father's eyes, and responded with a short 'yes'. His hand took a strong hold of mine, as if he was both trying to comfort me and steady himself.   
His father just gave out a 'hmph', then the questions came. Stan's mother must've been thinking of conversation prompts, because she came up with a few, starting with simple inquiries such as, "When did you meet?"  
I'd given out a sigh of relief that she was able to steer the conversation away from discourse, "When we were 13. During the summer."  
She nodded, and we continued the back and forth, question and short response, for a bit, until she finally asked, "So, what made you like each other?"  
I noticed that after she asked this, Mr. Uris went back to the other room. I felt Stan's grip on my hand grow slightly tighter, and leaned into him more before answering with compliments toward Stan and herself-talk of how she'd raised a wonderful son and all the things you're supposed to say. (Of course, I did mean all of those things, but they sounded rehearsed, even to me.)  
Conversation fell again, then Stan cut the silence with a statement that sounded surer than anything else that'd been said that day, "I want Mike to go to college with me."  
I blinked, looking over at him incredulously, "What? Stan, I can't-"  
He was stone faced, "I know, but my parents have connections. You can take a test and that'll give you something to fill out on an application. My dad knows the Dean, too."  
I could see the determination in his brown eyes, and behind that, desperation. He turned back to his mother, "You've met him now. Can you do it now?"  
His mother's face was becoming a bit concerned, "Stan, I-" she sighed, "I'll talk to your father about it." She threw a smile in my direction, then left after her husband, saying she'd be back.  
I met Stan's eyes, "Stan, I know what you're trying to do, and I love you for it, but...but I can't just leave. It's not that simple."  
Stan's eyebrows were furrowed, "Why not? I can help you study for the SATs and then we can be together."  
I moved a hand up to cup his cheek, "I have the farm, and then I promised Bill I'd stay here in case It comes back..."  
Stan frowned more at that, "That's not fair, and you know it." He leaned into my hand, "I don't want to leave you here."  
"I know, and I don't want you to leave, either, but I'm not going to hold you back."   
Stan put his free hand on my wrist, "Then, come with me. You're smart enough that you can get a scholarship, probably. And you have the right to be able to leave this hell, too."  
I sighed, and dropped my hand, leaning down to rest my forehead against his chest, "I wish I could."  
Stan put his hand on my back, "Are you sure you can't at least apply?"  
I sat back up, and managed a smile. "Okay, Stan. I'll apply, but you're going to have to talk to my family about it."   
Stan rolled his eyes, his slight smirk lighting up his face, "Done deal. And once you get it, you're going to have to room with me."  
I gave his nose a little boop, and my smile turned into a grin, "That's hard to argue against."  
It was a good thought. Being with him and rooming with him. Studying together. Being normal. Maybe even forgetting all that's happened and just being happy. I was tempted to tell my granddad my plans and take the test as soon as possible.  
Who knows what could happen? I want to be with him so bad, and yet I'm torn. Between him, this ray of light in my life, this beautiful person that I've loved for years now, and a promise that could possibly kill me and all of my friends in the future.   
I should choose Stan. Every logical argument, every fiber of my being is pushing me to take his hand and never let go.   
So why is my decision so difficult? He's expecting an answer, and he needs it soon because he's going to be leaving in a matter of a couple of months.  
I look him in the eyes, and press a kiss to his cheek, "I promise. If I get it, and my granddad says I can go, I'll go with you. Guarantee it."  
Stan's arms went around my back, mine to his neck and my face went back to its eternal resting place on his shoulder. "Should I send for school to give you the test, then, Michael?"  
Stan's mother had apparently heard the last bit of our conversation, and she was smiling.  
I nodded, sitting up from my comfortable position, "Yes, please, ma'am."  
Stan grinned in success, and I had to return his gesture. He was excited, and frankly, I was, too.


	8. Prompt 8: First Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If I seem awkward at writing kisses, it's cause I am. *Finger guns* Asexuality.

Mike was laying, feet across my lap, in my bed. His head rested on his arms folded behind him, and I could feel his soft gaze on me as I read through a book, trying to study for my history exam. I ran a hand through my hair, tugging at it slightly, frustrated and concerned for the test ahead.  
Mike's eyebrows went up, and he tilted his head, speaking in a low tone, "You alright, Stanley?"  
I closed my book with an irritated flick of the wrists, tossing it away, before becoming more aggravated with myself, giving in to the twitch of my lip and the urge to have to go and pick the book up again. I set it, neatly this time, on my desk, then sat back down on my bed. Mike's legs immediately went over my lap again.  
I looked at him with a deadpan expression, "Why?"  
Mike grinned, his dimples making an appearance, "Because I can. Because you let me."  
I grumbled, angry with myself and my history teacher but taking my frustration out on him, "That was my first mistake, I guess."  
It must've not come out too irritable, because it just brought out a chuckle from Mike. He sat up, leaning back on his arms, "I guess it is your fault for liking me in the first place, eh?"  
I rolled my eyes, running a hand over my face, "I'm so tired, Mike, but I have to study for this shit."  
He nodded, reaching his hand over to set it on my back, and rub little circles with his thumb. It's a trick I'm used to, but it helps relax my brain, which seemed to be cluttered with names and dates that I couldn't match up.   
Mike's the historian. I'm not interested in this stuff, and so it all flies over my head.   
Mike's hand leaves my back for a moment, and I almost complain, but he comes back, holding my book. I frown, "It's not worth it, Mike. I'm not going to pass it."   
He flipped open the book to the chapter I was on, and read silently for a bit. Bored and exhausted from all the stress I'd put on my brain, I hugged Mike around his shoulders, peering over to look at the book, which was beginning to make me dizzy.  
He pointed to a section, "So this. This just explains the connections between the French and American Revolutions. Like how France helped us, but we didn't return the favor."  
My chin rested on his shoulder, and I nodded, "How did you get that, though?"  
Mike shifted, his back moving more against my chest, "Well, it's like this: You have to know a bit of outside information to really be able to understand these books because of the way they're written. I usually read historical fiction to gain information since they're more entertaining and I'm more likely to finish reading them."  
I let out a small 'oof', then released his shoulders to fall back onto my bed, an arm covering my eyes. "I don't have time for all that, Mike!" I saw him jump a bit from my sudden outburst, and I felt immediate remorse, lowering my voice when I spoke again, "I've gotta pass this tomorrow."  
Mike sighed, setting a pencil in the book to mark the page and closing it. He put it to the side for now, and I felt the bed shift as he laid down beside me. He tangled his fingers in my hair, messing with it, (which is something I usually can't stand, but it's somehow endearing with Mike). "You're going to do fine, Stanny-" I felt the tips of my ears go a tad pink from the nickname, "-You just can't give up; you have to study, and I'll help you with it."  
I felt a headache grow in my temples; my mouth contorted a bit, showing my discomfort. Mike saw this, and moved his hand down to cup my cheek. He pressed his forehead to mine, and gave me a comforting smile, "C'mon, you need sleep. We'll do a quick study session on the way to school."  
I tilted my head slightly, "Don't you have things to do with your farm, or something?"   
He nodded, "Yeah, but I'll do them once I get back after walking you to school."  
I felt a flutter in my stomach, selfishly loving the attention he's giving me, "Okay. I guess I'll sleep, then."  
I stretched out, pulling the blanket over my head, and felt Mike press a soft kiss to my forehead.  
I couldn't remember falling asleep, but waking up was a hassle. Mike is woken up every day at 5 for his farm, and so when my alarm went off, he was already dressed, reading next to me.  
He smiled, giving me a slight wave, "Morning."  
I rubbed my eyes, "Mike, what the hell?" He laughed a bit, "Sorry. I'm not used to people sleeping in so late."  
"Late? It's 7:00!" I crawled out of bed to my closet, picking out one of the outfits I had pre set out for the week, and went to my bathroom to get dressed.  
I then shouldered my bag, "Do you want any breakfast or anything, man?"  
Mike just shrugged, "I'm fine, Stanny," he seemed to be contemplating something, but shook his head, waving the thought away.  
We began walking to school, my hand in his; he swung our hands in between us, which made me snort a bit. Mike flashed a grin at me, then started asking me questions about the material on my test.  
I knew most of them, to my utter surprise. Mike had to prompt me a bit, but every time I got something right, he'd smile and nod eagerly, squeezing my hand.  
We got to the school, and he smiled, pulling me in for a hug before I went off to meet the others in the cafeteria. He held on to me for longer than usual, and the circles he rubbed into my back were slower, as if he were focusing on his movements.  
He pulled back just enough for our noses to brush, then he pressed forward his lips to meet mine. I froze, face radiating heat, and he pulled back, further this time, a smile on his face, "Was that okay?"  
Fucking hell. Of course it was. More than okay. I had a thousand things to say but I couldn't force them off of my tongue, so I just nodded, hugging him again.   
Mike's grin, the dark blush across his cheeks, the light in his eyes, and the quiet, "Good luck," gave me the motivation to ace this test.   
And, wouldn't you know, I did.


	9. Prompt 9: Prom

I made a mistake.  
Let me explain. My teacher, Mrs. Jones, had went up to me and asked me after class if I wanted to help decorate the prom. She'd said she was struggling to get enough kids to help, and she mentioned that Ben was helping with it as well, so I felt cornered to say yes. I didn't know that if you decorated the prom, you were somewhat obligated to go to it.  
Yes, I know. Prom is this big thing with high schoolers; it's almost a rite of passage. Once you've been to your first prom, you danced and drunk, you spent all night going from after party to party, you were considered to have finally had the real high school experience.  
But, I just didn't really care about all that. I'd made plans with the rest of my group to just hang out and watch old horror movies the night of prom, as we'd all agreed that it was a waste of money, anyway. Seriously 20 dollars or more for a ticket? That's kind of stiff for cheap snacks and a crowded gym with a bunch of sweaty teenagers.  
And now I'm practically forced to go to it. I told Richie and he'd laughed at me at first, but he reassured me that he'd get the rest of the gang to go join me at the prom, which made the weight on my chest lighten a bit.  
Richie grinned, "I'll ask Eddie Spaghetti to go with me, too! And I know Ben and Bevvie would go together." He hummed, "Pretty sure Billy will have a date by then-that Audra chick he likes, probably."   
I nodded, "Okay, I guess."  
Richie pouted, "What about you, though? Is Mike 'n Ike gonna get to go?"  
I threw a deadpan expression his way, "No, thanks for making my situation abundantly clear."  
Richie beamed, "Don't worry, Stan the Man! You can dance with me and Bevvie! I know Haystack won't mind, and Eddie's punches don't hurt that bad."  
I rolled my eyes at his annoying positivity, "Whatever. It doesn't matter. Dates aren't all that important."  
Richie gasped, putting a hand to his chest, "Are you saying you don't want to dance with me, then?!"  
"No, Rich, that's not what I'm saying."  
He gave me another one of his grins, "I knew it! Noone can pass up the Tozier flair!" He threw an arm around my shoulders, "Nah, but we'll figure out some way to make it a good night for ya."  
I wasn't sure what he meant by that, but I didn't ask, as my headache was growing just thinking about it.  
The days passed by too quickly, and prom night finally came. Ben and I were setting up the gym with a few others, and we were close to done. A good thing, as there was only an hour until prom started.  
I still had to get changed into the suit I'd rented. Ben and I had the smart idea to take our clothes to the school so we could get changed after set up was done and we wouldn't be in the rush to go home and back.  
We walked to where we stashed our clothes, and got changed in the bathroom. Ben came out wearing a simple black tux, complete with a long red tie. He smiled sweetly, "Beverly's wearing red, too."  
I gave him a short smile back, already dressed in the light blue suit I picked out. I didn't wear a tie; I didn't like how they press against my throat, making it more difficult to breathe. I already feel claustrophobic in this place, anxiety soaring as I realized that I'd be one of the only people here without a date and I'm so awkward at these sort of things.   
I took a deep breath, remembering the breathing exercises Mike had taught me once upon a time. (It was the first panic attack of mine he'd seen, and he reacted so calmly, putting his hand on the small of my back and gently telling me to breathe in and out, in and out.)  
I sat with Ben at one of the tables we set up, talking quietly about this and that. He mostly rambled to me about how nervous he was feeling about this. I sat and listened, happy to serve as the receiver on a conversation like this for once.  
People began to show up, and I felt more self conscious just sitting here, talking as music was turned up, lights turned down. Richie and Eddie came in eventually, hand in hand. Richie was wearing a black suit with a pink bowtie. Eddie wore a salmon suit and a black tie. I guess they were going for a reverse matching kind of thing.  
Beverly came in after them, running to Ben. She was wearing a flashy red suit jacket, and a pair of slacks-she'd grown out of wearing dress for the most part. Bill and his date, Audra, who was wearing a nice, sapphire-blue dress.  
I looked around at our group. They were all paired up, and they were happy with their partners. Don't get me wrong, I lo-like Mike a lot, but it does suck that he can't be here.  
An hour or so passed, and I had a good time with my friends. We stayed in a large circle for the most part, sticking together until some of the slower songs came on.   
I went back to our table, sipping on some of the punch while my friends danced together, despite some protests by them that I could stay by them. I felt hands on my shoulders, and I said in a bit of a monotone voice, "Richie, c'mon, go back to Eddie."  
"I mean, I would, but I don't think Eddie or Rich would like that."   
I smiled, recognizing his voice, and turned around, "How did you get in? I thought they only let students from here attend." I noticed the nice outfit he was wearing-the slacks, the red button up, and black blazer-and blushed slightly.  
He knelt down to meet my level since I was sitting. He took my hands in his own, smiling gently, "It took a bit of haggling, but I signed a permission slip or two, talked to the principal, and he let me come." He then said, more sheepishly, "Sorry I was so late; I had to finish feeding the animals before changing."  
I shook my head, smiling, "No, no, it's fine. I'm just glad you're here."   
He stood, pulling me up with him, "Let's join the others then, eh?"  
He led me to the group, all in pairs yet close together, and set his hands around my waist, pulling me in for a hug. He pressed his forehead to my shoulder, laughing a bit as he said, "I can't dance, man."  
I returned the hug, feeling a laugh rise up from my chest, "Neither can I."   
Mike moved his hand on top of mine, lacing our fingers together, and held them to the side. His free hand went to my back, and his face was buried in my neck, (why is it that he always seems to find his place there?)  
I closed my eyes, listening to Mike's soothing humming in my ear. The song ended, immediately followed by a faster paced one. Richie spotted us, grinning, "Hey Mikey, you made it!"  
Mike reluctantly moved away from me, directing a soft smile at Richie, "Yeah, I'm here."  
"Sweet!" Richie exclaimed, hand holding Eddie's, "Now Staniel can thank me for telling you about it!"  
I rolled my eyes, "I'd already assumed you'd had something to do with it, Rich."  
Richie shrugged, "Still. Owe me a favor."  
Mike leaned against my shoulder again. I felt at ease, all of the people I care about around me, and the rest of the world disappeared as we laughed and danced-well, the others danced, I didn't.   
The crowd slowly went away, rumors of an after party rose and they all went to that.   
Eventually, it was just the eight of us. Mike quietly said to me that he had to go home before it got too late, seeing as he had to go farther than the rest of us.   
His father had given him his truck when he got old enough to have a license, so he didn't have to bike, but it did make me nervous having him drive with how dark it was already getting.  
Mike squeezed my hand, "Want a ride?"  
I nodded, just wanting to spend more time with him, and we walked to where he parked.   
The drive was slow-intentionally, I think-and I could hear the radio softly playing a song I didn't know. The sky was almost pitch black, dotted with stars. The road was dark, illuminated slightly by the yellow glow of headlights.  
Mike parked in front of my house, but I didn't get out. He unbuckled, moving over to bump my nose with his. I snorted, and his grin just grew, "Good night, Stanley."  
I felt my face heat up a bit, "Okay, good night, Mike." I pecked his cheek, giving him a soft smile. I got out, waving to Mike one last time.  
Maybe going to prom was worth it after all.


	10. Prompt 10: Building A Fort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don't ask.

Richie had invited the Losers to go over to his house for the weekend. "Spend some quality time together," he'd said, excitedly.  
Stan had went directly home with Richie after school, while the others had to go back to their houses to pack some clothes. He wasn't sure about Bill, since he hadn't been at school that day. Stan spent enough time over at Richie's that he had some clothes there anyway. Stan sat on the couch in the Tozier's living room, Richie's legs over his lap, head on the armrest.   
Richie whistled, "Staann, I'm bored. When's the others gonna get here?"  
Stan shrugged, "I don't know. It shouldn't be too long." Stan listened to Richie ramble on for a bit, when finally the doorbell rang.  
Stan turned to Richie, "Get your legs off of me so I can answer the door."  
Richie whined, "I don't feel like it-" Stan rolled his eyes, pushing Richie's legs off, and went to the door, opening it to reveal Mike on the other side.  
He smiled, waving toward Rich, then put an arm around my shoulders, "So, what're we doing, Rich?"  
Richie rubbed his hands together, standing up, "We're still waiting on the others to show up before we watch some movies or anything, hut, hmm," he rubbed his chin, "We can do something while we wait for them..." Richie snapped his fingers, "We can build a fort!"  
Stan tilted his head, eyes flickering to meet Mike's, who seemed to be perfectly fine with the idea by the looks of his smile. Stan shrugged.  
Richie put his hands on his hips, "Alright!" He went upstairs, bounding up two steps at a time. He came back quickly, balancing four or five blankets and a pile of pillows in his arms. Mike rushed to him, taking some of the items away from him.  
Richie threw a couple of the blankets over the back of the couch, "Stan, get a couple of chairs, dude!"  
I sighed, but went and did what he asked, setting a couple of chairs from the kitchen across from the couch. He tossed the edge of the blankets to me, and I set them across the back of the chairs so that there was a small roof made of blankets.  
Richie put the other blankets across the other sides so that there were some 'walls' to the fort, "Now put another one on the floor and I'll arrange the pillows!"  
Richie lifted one of the blankets up and crawled inside. Mike laughed a bit, catching my gaze and shrugging. He went in after Richie.  
Stan looked around to noone, rubbing the back of his neck. Stan decided to go in after his friends. They sat under the blanket roof, Stan by Mike, and Richie laid on a bunch of pillows, "Wanna hear a spooky story?"  
Stan looked at him with lidded eyes, "Go ahead, Rich."  
Richie grinned, "Once upon a tune-up-"  
Stan interrupted, "Isn't it time?"  
"No, it's tune-up. Shh, lemme talk. Okay, once upon a turnip, there was a couple, probably a couple of gay guys like you two, or me and Eds, I don't care. No, no, it's you guys. Okay, so once upon a Tuesday, you dudes were sitting in a car doing-what do you guys even do? I don't know, you were doing what you do, and the radio guy-me because I'm famous, I'm the super famous radio guy named Finn Wolfhard-and, I was like: Yo, Uris, watch out, man, there's this crazy dude on the loose named Bill Denbrough with a hookhand, and he's gonna get cha if you don't stop doing what chu be doing."  
Stan looked at him with a deadpan expression, "Why would you be specifically talking to me, and not the rest of your listeners?"  
Richie hushed him, "Shuddup, lemme finish. Okay, so Big Bad Bill was actually watching from the bushes, being the stalker boy he is, and he scraped his hookhand on the side of your truck-" Richie made an eery sound with his mouth, "You jumped, clinging to the nearest thing-which was Mike-and ended up smacking him in the face. Smooth, Stan the Man. Okay, so now Mike was knocked out, and Stanny's on his own. Stan is dying, having a slight panic attack, when Bill forces open the door to the truck. Stan screams, and Bill picked you up bridal style, wooshing you away into the night. The next morning, the police find Mike with his throat slit in the truck. The end."  
Mike and Stan are silent for a few beats, then Stan whispered, "What the fuck?"  
Richie clapped his hands together, "So, what'd ya think?"  
Stan facepalmed, "I think you need serious help."  
There was a knocking at the door, and Stan ran a hand over his face, moving to go get it. Mike, not wanting to discuss the events of Richie's story, went with him.   
Mike moved to grab Stan's hand, and Stan opened the door, revealing Bill smiling at them, holding a fishing rod, a shiny hook at the end of it. Richie popped his head out of the fort, eyes wide, "Bill's here to kill us!" He crawled out of the fort, then raced up to his room.  
Stan turned back to Bill, "Why the fishing stuff?"  
Bill shrugged, an eyebrow raised at Richie's reaction, "I-I just g-got back from f-fishing... Wh-What's his deal?"  
Mike moved behind Stan, "I'm not sure what's going on anymore."


	11. Hospital Visits

Mike was sitting in the waiting room of the hospital, eyes glancing back and forth from the clock to a long, empty hallway a few feet away from the chair he sat in; clock, hallway, clock, hallway.  
He sat next to a few of his friends. Richie was curled up in the chair next to him, tired from the long wait. They've been sitting here for an hour, maybe two; time seemed to be fusing together as he waited, somewhat impatiently, for a nurse to finally call them back.   
Eddie sat on the other side of Richie, claiming that his mother was okay with him staying out late, since she knew and spoke to some of the nurses, and one of the receptionists, that worked there.  
The only other one of the Losers that was with them at that moment,(Beverly and Ben both had to leave, as their parents wanted them home), was Bill, who was sitting on Mike's other side, gripping the armrests of his chair, muttering under his breath.  
Mike laid a hand on his arm, finally focusing on something other than the clock or hall, "You doing okay, Bill?"  
Bill turned his head, stopping whatever he was saying mid sentence, "I-I'm scared, M-Mike. H-He looked really b-bad. H-His face was bl-bleeding all over, a-and-" Bill cut himself off at seeing Mike's expression.  
Mike felt guilty. He wasn't sure why, but Stan's words had gotten to him-all of them, really. Mike hadn't been there when Stan had gotten attacked. None of them had.   
Bill's nose twitched a bit, "I-I don't think h-he's mad-at le-least not at y-y-y-" Bill shut his mouth, taking a moment that Mike was willing to give, "H-He w-wouldn't be mad a-at you."  
Mike could hear the underlying sentence behind what Bill had said, but he didn't respond verbally. Rather, he just patted Bill's hand, to which he was greeted with a small, twisted smile.  
It was then that a nurse came out, holding a clipboard. She read off of it, "Guests for a...Stanley Uris?"  
Mike and Bill stood up at the same time, and the nurse nodded, "Two at a time, please." She pointed toward Richie and Eddie, "Are they with you, as well?"  
Bill nodded, "Y-Yes, ma'am."  
The nurse told them that they'd have to wait for one, or both, of the other two to leave before they could visit Stan, or else the room will be too crowded.  
Mike turned back, "Do either of you want to..." He wasn't really talking to the sleeping Richie, but to Eddie, who just waved him off, "I'll stay with Rich."  
Mike nodded, and the nurse led them down that hallway, toward a room near the end of it. She allowed them to go in, then excused herself.  
Mike's eyes snapped to Stanley laying on the hospital bed, crisp bandages wrapped tight around his head, white except for some blood that'd soaked through them. Mike and Bill went to either side of him.  
Stan eyes looked slightly hazed over-of course they would've given him some sort of numbing agent. He gave them a slight wave with the arm that wasn't hooked up to an IV.  
Mike wanted to hug him, somehow, but he wasn't sure if he'd hurt Stan. He went with touching the side of his face that wasn't all the way bandaged, "Feeling any better, Stanny?"  
Stan put his fingers-but not the palm, for some reason-on my hand that was resting on his cheek. He gave one of his half smiles, "I'm okay." Mike let out the breath he'd been holding ever since he saw Stan being attacked.  
Bill sat in one of the chairs they placed out for guests, "I-I'm sorry I-I g-got you h-hurt. I-I really am." His frown was anxious.  
Stan lifted his fingers off of Mike's hand, and moved to rest them on Bill's hand that was gripping onto the sheets of his bed. Stan shrugged, smile becoming more of an odd smirk. Words weren't exchanged, perhaps it would've become more hard to breathe if they were. Either way, they weren't necessary. The message was clear. Stan forgave Bill, and Bill's hand released the sheets.  
Bill felt out of place, then. Mike could tell he still felt unbelievably guilty, and so he left, claiming that his parents wanted him home soon.  
Mike expected the nurse to bring either Eddie or Richie back there, but they didn't come until later.  
Mike was careful, pressing his lips to meet the point of Stan's nose. Words were seldom, but when they were spoken, they were quiet, warm reassurances between the two that everything would be better now. IT was gone, and they hadn't seen a sign of Bowers' gang as of yet.   
Eventually, Richie woke up and rushed into the room, doing his best attempt at pulling Stan into a hug, glasses on his head so he could best bury his face into Stan's neck. Stan gave him a pat on the back, comforting his upset best friend.  
Mike held onto Stan's other hand like a lifeline. It told him that until he was able to walk away from this hospital, Stan was alright.   
And that's what he truly needed in his life. For Stan to be truly healthy and happy, especially with Mike at his side.


	12. Prompt 12: Deserted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was hard to not turn angsty.

Mike poked out his tongue, squinting to read the map. The sun shone too bright overhead, making it difficult to focus on the directions. Stan trudged on behind him, mumbling the names of all the birds he could think of over and over. Mike turned his head a bit, reaching his arm out, "C'mon, Stanny. There's a shady spot over there. We'll rest."  
Stan used his last bit of energy to catch Mike's hand, collapsing into Mike as they sat under the shade, "How the hell-" Stan had to take a moment to catch his breath, "Did we get here?"  
Mike set an arm around Stan's shoulders, letting the exhausted man lean against him. Mike rubbed his eyes with his palm, "Planes are stupid, that's how."  
Stan nodded, eyes closed as he tried to become comfortable, though it was hard with how much they were both sweating, "Here's to that."  
They'd been on a plane to Europe for vacation when everything had went downhill. The skies were dark and loud with thunder. The plane started losing altitude quickly. They'd landed in the ocean, and had to swim to land. Stan wasn't that great of a swimmer, so Mike had to help him.   
Mike had found a map on the ground, and was trying to match its topography with what he saw, but he couldn't tell what was what. It was miles of sand on every side.  
Mike sighed, looking back down at Stan, who was tearing up slightly. Mike took Stan's chin in between two fingers, "Stanny..."  
Stan's cheeks became more flushed than they already were. His arms were crossed, and his eyebrows were furrowed. Stan's eyelashes hung like heavy weights, pulling on his eyelids, "It wasn't supposed to be like this." Stan's voice wobbled, and Mike could tell he was on the verge of panic, "We were supposed to have a-" Stan's breath caught, "-a nice time, and take a break from everything. And then-"  
Mike cut him off, trying to force away the negativity that had infiltrated Stan's mind, "Hey," he said in a gentle tone, "We'll be okay. There'll be a town somewhere around here, has to be. And I have my card on me, so we can get some food, and maybe a ticket out of here."  
Stan shook his head, "I just don't-We might not find anyone. Then what do we do? There's probably not going to be anything to eat out here, and-" Stan's words became fumbled, as he became unsure what to say. He shook his head, curls looser and unstyled for the first time in a while. The humidity made Stan's hair get a bit poofy, and Mike had to comment, "Hun, your hair." He ran a hand through it, laughing.  
Stan huffed, "It's the humidity."  
Mike grinned, glad to digress the conversation at least a bit, "I know, I know. It's nice, though."  
Stan sat up, "You're crazy. It must look horrible and uneven. I mean, it's hot as hell out here and I haven't had a shower in a full 24 hours."   
Mike cupped Stan's cheeks, "But you still look adorable." Stan caught on to him, rolling his eyes. Stan stood, holding a hand out to Mike. Mike complied, taking Stan's hand and getting up with him, though he didn't let go.  
Stan slumped a bit, which while it's against his nature, was appropriate with his exhausted state, "Let's just keep walking. I think I smell something, but I could be going crazy. Who knows."  
Mike frowned, "Actually...I think I smell something, too. Like," "Gas," they said together.  
Mike's eyes lit up again, and their paces became quicker with this new hope. Eventually, on the peak of the horizon, they could make out the outline of a building. A store, probably. A gas station.  
Mike stopped walking to pull Stan into a hug, "See, I knew we'd make it. Just like every other thing we've gone through. We did it."  
Stan's eyes still looked droopy, and the purple under them was darker than usual, but he did return Mike's smile, "Whatever. C'mon, you optimist."  
Mike laughed.


	13. In A Fairytale

"Mike remembered when he first figured out he could do magic. His family belonged to a long line of people who didn't practice the act, so it came as a natural surprise. Mike had been only about five years old when he was playing out in the field that his family owned. He'd been trying, with a sense of wonder, to catch a bird that was hopping around, but not taking off. Mike eventually caught the bird, eyes wide, a joyful laugh escaping him. The bird looked up at him with intelligence shining in its eyes. Mike cupped his hands so as not to hurt the bird.   
He frowned, noticing that its wing was bent. His lower lip stuck out, as he thought that he'd been the one to hurt the beautiful light blue bird. Mike gave the bird a light pet on the head, and in his childish, five year old voice said, "Get better, okay?"   
Mike set the bird down gently, and watched as it slowly flapped its wings, and took off flying.  
Mike's eyes were orbs when he saw this. He started racing back to his mother, tugging on her sleeve and telling her all about what he'd just witnessed, "Mama! There-There was this bird, and it was hurt, but I told it I wanted it to get better, and-and-and, it did!" He was practically exploding with excitement.  
His mother was a bit more wary. The next years became full of lessons for Mike. All about what he can do, which he learned was magical trait to heal people.   
As Mike grew older, he used this more and more to heal animals he saw. He lived outside of the city, and so he'd never gotten the chance to heal a human, nor did he really want to. Mike trepidatiously thought that he might get put to use for the kingdom for his skills-taken away from his family, or worse: What if he couldn't heal someone and they die on him? He couldn't bare to think about that.  
Mike was walking back from the city after he delivered some of the crops his family grew, when he heard a horse's neigh, followed quickly by the sound of a young man in pain, calling out.  
Mike, despite himself, despite all the things he'd worried about since he was young, rushed forward to the boy. An arm was clearly out of place; just looking at it made Mike wince.  
The boy, who'd had his eyes squeezed shut with pain, finally managed to look at him, "Wh-What are you doing?"  
Mike took in his features all at once, something forcing him to stop in his tracks. He became much too aware of his hands. The boy wore a light blue tunic, almost the same shade of blue as the bird he helped so long ago. It was a color of royalty, or at least of nobility.  
Mike shook his head, "Can you move your arm?"  
The boy just scowled a bit-Mike could tell he wasn't mad at him, but at the situation-,"No, I can't." He winced, making an attempt to sit up.   
Mike stopped him, "Hey, hey, lay down, alright? You could hurt yourself more."  
The boy's cheeks turned a fierce red, and he complied.  
Mike set a cautious hand on the injured arm, causing the boy to flinch, "What are you doing? That hur-"  
Mike mumbled a bit under his breath, and felt heat radiating off of his palms. Mike couldn't quite believe he'd been able to do it. Healing a person. And a fracture at that. He smiled down at the boy, who was looking at him with skeptical, awed eyes, "How?"  
The question was short and to the point. Mike wasn't sure how to explain it. Perhaps another reason to not heal other people. The inquiry was hard to handle, "It's just something I can do. Some can dance, some sing-although I do that, too." Mike's grin grew at the compliment toward himself. He stood, extending a hand toward the boy, "What's your name, if I may ask?"  
He brushed himself off, accepting Mike's hand and pulling himself up to his feet like his arm wasn't just broken, "I'm Stanley. Uris."  
Mike liked him. He really did. Something about his composure. Mike liked it, "Can I walk you home?" And he could've sworn that he'd heard the name Uris before.  
Stanley held his head high, but kept his hold on Mike's hand, "If you wouldn't mind, I wouldn't, either."  
Mike laughed. He was definitely someone of higher status. Mike could tell just because of the way he acted, not to mention the noble blue he wore, "Where do you live? The castle?"  
Stan's voice was level, "No, I live beside it." Mike's brows raised. He lived near the elite side of town. It didn't shake Mike. The boy had been fair to him so far; why would he change because of his nobility?  
They walked, Stanley's horse's rein in his free hand. Mike walked with him, still oddly holding his hand, (Mike noticed how Stan's nails were trimmed to perfection), until the edge of the city, "I've got to go home now, actually."  
Stan frowned a bit, the corners of his mouth barely dropping, "Right." He turned, then looked over his shoulder, "I'll see you again?"  
Mike gave him a grin, "Sure." He turned, happy to know that Stanley, a person of royalty and charm, not to mention someone who has gorgeous eyes and the curliest hair you could imagine. Someone so kind Mike coul-"

Stan shut the operation down, putting a hand over Mike's mouth, "Story time's over. Sorry, but no."  
Richie and Beverly, who'd been listening to Mike's story, boo'ed. Richie said, "He's right, though. The story is off. Stan would've slapped you if you tried to touch his arm." Richie laughed, Bev joining in after.  
Stan rolled his eyes, "Whatever." He turned to Mike, "Nice story, Michael.''  
Mike replied coolly, "Then why'd you stop me?"  
Stan's lips pursed a bit, "You got long winded with the compliments."  
"Well, they were true. I was trying to be accurate."   
Stan tried to hold back the smile, but couldn't, "Shut up," he turned to go to the kitchen, leaving a content Mike.  
Richie said wittily, "Think you can heal his case of the bitchies?"


	14. Prompt: Valentine's Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You know I had to do it to em.

Stan was a man with a plan. He wasn't going to let this day flop. He always felt like he messed up a tad bit everytime he went out with Mike. Mike waved Stan's doubts away, saying that Stan was doing great. He meant it, and Stan knew that Mike meant it, but Stan didn't believe him. He felt like he always said something wrong-usually something self deprecating that made Mike frown with worry. Stan wasn't going to be having that today. Logic and reason told him that it was just another day, but Mike was excited about it. He, Ben, and Eddie had discussed their plans with one another while Richie, Stan, Bill, and Beverly talked. Stan had turned to see Mike as energetic and enthusiastic as the others about the event.  
It caused a spark to light in Stan. If Mike liked Valentine's, then he would have a good Valentine's. Mike had, so far, been the one to organize their dates, and Stan was going to change that if it meant his life.   
Stan was tempted to put some gel in his hair to force it down, but in his mind's eye he could see every time Mike messed with his curls, and decided to leave them alone. He did, however, wear a sweater-vest and a pair of jeans. He liked to look nice when going out.  
Stan had socked away some cash for just this occasion. He pulled it out of its hiding place and stuck it into his wallet. Stan went over a mental list of all the things he needed, then went over to the drug store.   
He chained up his bike before entering. He wasn't the type to trust the general public. He went in, looking around. He heard the cashier say to him, "Can I help you find anything?"  
Stan rubbed the back of his neck, knowing that Greta isn't exactly the best person-she'd called Beverly names and wrote an ugly remark on Eddie's cast. Stan tried to be casual, which wasn't easy for him, "I was looking for some flowers, hopefully yellow."  
Yellow was Mike's favorite colour.   
Greta had a nasty smile; Stan thought that she was just another version of Henry Bowers. Mean, just less physical about her meanness. She was emotionally manipulative. Greta laughed harshly, popping her gum, "Who's it for? That Marsh trash?"   
Stan wasn't brave enough like some of his friends to say anything to refute her words against Beverly, so he tried to calm the situation by replying in a simple manner, averting his eyes from her, "No, it's not for Beverly, actually." Stan was concise in his words, hating the conversation and wanting it to be done with.  
"Then who?" She was nasty, but she was also curious. Who in their right mind would date him, one of the Losers?   
Boy Scout Stanley didn't like telling a lie, but he knew when it was better than telling the truth, "It's just for a girl at Temple."  
Greta rolled her eyes, "Yeah, right. Whatever." He didn't receive any help from her on finding the flowers, nor did he really expect to. He found them on his own, in an aisle near the back. There was a bundle of yellow and pink peonies. He smiled, picking them up, along with a ribbon he found near them.  
He walked up to the cash register, and Greta scoffed, lazily ringing him up and giving him back his change once he'd bought the flowers.  
He knew Mike's favorite flowers were tulips, but he hoped the peonies were a good replacement, since he couldn't find any of the first choice. Stan was almost ready. He had one more stop at a deli to pick up a sandwich for him, and since Mike wasn't too keen on eating meat, an assortment of fruits for him.  
Stan gave himself a side grin, triumphant in his collection of items. Now to go meet Mike in the park.  
He biked his way there, his items sitting in the basket of his bike. Stan looked around, seeing Mike sitting on a blanket that he must've brought. Mike met his gaze, waving to him.  
Stan parked his bike near Mike's, using the kickstand on his, even though Mike had simply let his rest on a bench.   
Stan sat down by Mike, presenting to him the bundle of flowers nervously. To his relief-even though at the back of his mind, Stan knew Mike would love whatever he had-Mike grinned, "Wow. These are amazing, Stanny!"  
The freckled boy went up to his bike enthusiastically, getting out a small, wrapped present, a big bow on it, and presented it to Stan, who was amazed at the time the bow must've taken. It wrapped around the sides of the box, made out of real ribbon similar to the one Stan had tied around the bouquet, and ended on the top of the box in a big, nice bow.  
Stan criss crossed his legs, unwrapping it, and smiling once he did, "Aw, Mike!" It was a cute plush bird, a rose tucked beside it. The bird was baby blue, Stan's favorite colour. He hugged Mike, thanking him with a kiss to the cheek.  
Mike set his hands in his lap, smiling a sweet smile back at him. Stan took out of the peonies from the bundle and put it carefully behind Mike's ear, "There."  
Mike laughed gallantly, "Perfect." Stan pulled out the food he'd brought, setting the fruits in front of Mike, and went to quietly munch on his deli sandwich.   
Mike almost bounced with energy that Stan wasn't quite used to with him. Mike caught him staring and blushed a bit, "Sorry. I just love Valentine's Day."  
Stan shook his head, "Don't be." He thought over that, "Don't be sorry, I mean."  
Mike let out an airy laugh, "I know what you mean, Stanny." They ate, joking quietly amongst themselves. Mike eventually laid down on the blanket, his arms behind his head, eyes closed. Stan sighed quietly, contently, lovingly. He laid down next to Mike, remembering all the times they've been just like this. Hands held. At each other's side. Peaceful.   
Stan couldn't count how many times it's been by now. But he knew he didn't want them to end.


	15. Prompt 15: Fight

I was laying in my bed, my radio on, listening to a soft voice singing. I hummed along, my voice cracking a bit but I didn't mind. I closed my eyes. I was peaceful.   
Then, Mike came into my room. I gave him a smile, which fell immediately when I saw that he was absolutely exhausted. Mike sat down on my bed next to me. I noticed a fairly new wound on his forehead, provoking alarm from me, "Mike, are you okay?" It was an obvious question, but it needed to be asked.  
Mike shifted his position a bit, laying down, his feet dangling off of the short side of my bed and his head laying on my stomach. I put my hand on his cheek, "Mike?"  
Mike looked up at me, "When I was walking over here, Bowers and his gang spotted me, and-" Mike gestured to his forehead and his leg, which I hadn't until now noticed was hurt.   
I frowned, a frustrated expression on my face, "Those assholes."  
Mike tilted his head more, leaning into my hand, "I know, but there's nothing we can do about it."  
I screwed up my face to express all of the hatred I felt toward the Bowers gang. I said through slightly grit teeth, "I know. And I'm not going to do anything rash, but it's not right, Mike."  
Mike sat up to give my hair a ruffle, "It's not, but I'm glad you're not going to do anything to get yourself hurt." He winced a bit, moving his injured leg to a better position.  
He let silence fall between us, then said, "Hey, I have some cash if you want to walk down to the store and get some snacks or something."  
I nodded, "Sure."  
We got up, him pausing so I could slip on some shoes, and started walking from my house to corner store. We were just another block away, when I heard his voice, "What? Didn't get enough earlier?"  
Mike and I both froze. Mike glanced back at me, telling me through his expression not to do anything. We'd run when they got the chance, but right now, Henry Bowers was standing directly behind Mike.  
I was on the verge of panic. Bowers looked angrier than he'd ever had before, proclaiming that he wouldn't let Mike go this time. I felt something stir in my gut, and I said with the confidence of someone much stronger than I, "Go away, Bowers."  
It worked. Henry turned toward me instead. I clenched my fist so as not to start drumming on the side of my thigh out of anxious habit. He snarled, having the absolute attractiveness of a rotten egg, "What'd you say?"  
I felt one of Henry's "friends" move closer to me, and I said, clearer this time, "Go away. And don't hurt him."  
Henry scoffed, rolling his eyes, "Grab the Jew, too, Patrick." Henry's eyes broke contact from either him or Mike, and I took the opportunity, grabbing for Mike's hand and starting to run.  
Mike kept up with me, and we made a beeline for the corner store. Henry and Patrick were chasing us, no doubt, but I never looked back.  
I lost hold of Mike's hand for a bit and felt panic arise in my chest. I couldn't see anything, my eyes only taking in darkness. I was breathing heavily, an attack about to strike me, "Mike? Mike?"  
I felt a hand grab my shoulder and turned around, blinking rapidly to avoid the darkness that would eventually lessen my vision more and more in my panic. Mike's voice soothed me, "Stanny, it's okay. We lost 'em."  
I sucked in copious amounts of breath, then nodded, "Okay, okay. Just give me a second. I-I can't see."  
I blinked more, then tried some breathing exercises to calm myself down. Finally, I was able to take in some light again, only having some black spots in my vision.   
I attacked Mike with a hug, clinging to him as I took in my surroundings. We made it to the store. The owner had ran Bowers and Hockstetter off.   
Mike's wound on his forehead was bleeding, though. I'd take the time to clean it for him later, but now, I just wanted to stay here, with him.   
The feeling seemed to be mutual.


	16. Fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I like this chapter.

It was the day where all of the children in the society of Derry would line up to face their fear. Literally.  
There was a tree in which every child of Derry would go into and their deepest fear would come to life before their eyes. Once they could defeat it, they became a full citizen.  
Stan Uris had stood in the same line for three years in a row, always able to get to the very front before looking into the looming darkness of the tree, and turning around. He was bound and determined; however, to make it through this time.  
Stan took a few deep breaths, then moved forward in the line. He saw someone come out of the other side of the tree, a triumphant look on her face. Her wild red hair was practically glowing like fire as she ran toward her friend. Beverly Marsh, his friend. Of course she would make it through.  
Stan shook his head, facing the back of the person's head that was in front of him. His hands were getting clammy and were shaking slightly with nerves that he couldn't control.  
He felt a hand on his shoulder, then turned to see a familiar face. Mike Hanlon.  
"You feeling okay, Stanny?"  
Stan swallowed the lump in his throat, "Not especially." He then inquired, "How long have you been there?"  
Mike said, rubbing the back of his neck, "Not long. One of my other friends was holding my place while my parents had me run an errand."  
Stan nodded, "Well, anyway, I'm just nervous about this whole thing, Mikey. And that's supposed to be the exact point of this. To build confidence and what not." He said with a wavor in his voice, "What if I can't do it?"  
Mike waved the question away, "Don't worry about it, Stanny. It's an illusion. It's all in your head, really. They build up all this tension for you so they can make sure you'll be able to have, like you said, the confidence and capability to contribute to the community as a citizen, but they'd never actually hurt you."  
Stan looked into Mike's eyes, his even expression, and sucked in some breath, "Alright. I-I believe you, but I'm still not sure about it...I can't imagine what'll be there waiting for me."  
Mike gestured for him to move up a bit-three people out of the six in front of them had already made their way out of the tree-"From what I've heard from Rich, it's nothing to worry about. He said he just saw a few clown dolls, though between you and me, I don't feel like that's the complete truth, but he didn't have a scratch on him. You'll be fine."  
Stan sighed, "You say that but I can't shake this-this feeling that I won't be able to get through it. That I'll freeze up like I've always done."  
Someone that'd been at the front of the line stepped up to the tree, then shook their head, "No way, man. Not my year." They looked worried, then ran off in the opposite direction of the tree.  
Mike's lips grew a bit thin, "Bad example of what you should do."  
Stan sighed, the impending fate of him and the tree was approaching. The next two people must've ran through it, because suddenly, like the sound of thunder, the tree was in front of him. Awaiting him.  
Stan's breathing grew a bit faster. He reached behind him for Mike's hand, shaking his head, "Mike. I can't. I can't go in there, Mike."  
Mike turned him around to face him, "Hey, hey, stop." He gave his nose a soft kiss, then said, smiling, "I believe in you."  
Stan groaned, not wanting to let go of Mike's comforting hand, but alas, he knew he had to. He took a few shaky steps forward, then entered the darkness, eyes squeezed shut.  
He lifted his eyelids slowly, seeing nothing at first. Nothing but complete darkness.  
He hated the dark. Ever since he was a child he'd have to get his parents to leave a lamp on for him to be able to fall asleep. Stan's chest began to heave, "H-Hello?" Still nothing.  
Stan's bottom lip began to quiver as his brain began to race, "Is this thing broken?" He said it as a light joke, but it was starting to become too real for him. He wondered how big this thing could be as he put his hands in front of him to try and feel the edges until he could get to the exit.  
He couldn't feel anything. His hands tried to grasp for something, but couldn't. He felt tears well up in his eyes, "Please? I-I can't see."  
He moved his hands up to his hair, grabbing at it to know that he's still there. He still exists among this complete and total nothingness. He started calling out for people he knew cared about him, "Richie? Mike? Bill? Anyone? Mike!" He started having trouble breathing, "I don't understand. This isn't right! I'm supposed to see something, or someone! My fear!"   
The disorder was causing his head to ache. He wanted order, he wanted answers. And he wasn't getting either of them.  
Then it clicked. His fear. Disorder. Not knowing what could happen. Having no control.  
He said-more like shouted-"I've got it! This is my fear! And I faced it! And I can get over it!" He added, "Now let me go!"  
He saw the exit, and had to stop for a moment, questioning how he hadn't seen the light before. He ran toward it, inhaling the fresh air of the outside.  
He saw Mike about to go in, and ran up to him, feeling more accomplished in that moment than in any other time of his life. He hugged Mike around his torso, "I did it!"  
Mike laughed, "I knew you could."   
Stan had a fire in his eyes, a nice light that had never before been there, "So can you; go get 'em, Mikey."  
Mike gave him a side smile, "You got it, Stanny," then he walked in.  
Stan stood to the side, waiting for Mike to come back out. But he never did. Stan was tempted to ask one of the administrators of the event if Mike was okay in there. It'd been a while. Stan walked up to one, "Excuse me, sir?"  
The administrator didn't respond, and he said again, "Sir?"  
Stan looked around, noticing now that noone was moving. Their eyes seemed to be glazed over. He furrowed his brow in confusion, "Hello?"  
Their eyes filled with black, making a scream erupt out of Stan. He shook his head, "No. No." The black spilled from their eyes to the rest of their bodies and to the ground, racing toward where Stan stood. He screamed, "No! I already did this! No! Mike!"  
He saw the tree, then Mike came out of it. Stan gave a sigh of relief, going toward him, but the blackness separated them. Stan reached out as far as he could without having to fall into the darkness surrounding him, "Mike!"   
Mike seemed as worried as he was, "Stanley!" They were separated from each other. The blackness from the other people was causing the ground to shake, a rift between them large enough that neither could get to the other side.  
Stan went to his knees, desperate, "Mikey..." He couldn't breathe again, just like when he was in the...The tree. He was still in the tree. His face screwed up in indignation, "This isn't real!"  
Everything stopped. Lights came up around him and the blackness was drowned out. He found the clear path out of the tree, anger possessing him. He saw Mike standing in line, then went up to him.   
Mike's eyes were delighted, "So, how'd it go? Did you figure out your fear?"  
Stan crossed his arms, "It was ridiculous. Something about all these other people bleeding out some black darkness shit that would separate us. I'm not scared of that; that's completely irrational. How could people cause us to be-"  
It clicked. All this time with Mike, he'd been afraid of what society would say about him. About them. He met Mike's eyes, then tackled him in a hug.  
Mike laughed, caught off guard, "Is this a hug of good luck?"   
Stan shook his head, giving him a determined smile, "It's a hug for the future. And that I got over my fear."  
Mike raised a brow, then ruffled Stan's hair, "Alright. I love you, Stan, but I gotta go in there."  
Stan stopped Mike right before he went into the tree, cupping his hands around his mouth, making his proclamation loud enough for others to hear, "I love you, too!"


	17. Prompt 17: Sick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My friend dared me to try and make a concise plot in under 500 words, so here we are. Book versions of characters, aka, Mike's parents are alive.

I tapped my foot, waiting impatiently for Mike to show up. He's never late to any of our dates, and yet it's 5:30 and we'd set plans to meet at the theatre at 5.  
I was growing less irritated and more worried as time went by. Eventually, I left the theatre, riding my bike up to Mike's house, which, needless to say, took a while. We'd definitely missed our movie by now. Dammit.  
I set my bike by where his was resting in front of the porch. I couldn't even appreciate the scenery of the Hanlon residence. The clearer sky, the beauty of some of the animals that were grazing upon green grass.  
I knocked on the door, getting greeted by Mike's mom. She gave him a slight smile, "Hello?"  
I gave her a slight wave, "Hi, Mrs. Hanlon. Is Mike okay? He missed our-" I avoided the word 'date', "-our movie."  
Her smile was all too knowing, "Right. Your movie." I quickly wondered what exactly Mike had told her, but dismissed it, since I was more worried about Mike. She answered my question, seeing the concern in my eyes, "Mike's a bit under the weather today. He wanted to tell you, but I wouldn't let him out. Honestly, I'm not sure if you'd want to be around him at the moment; the flu is bad about this time of year."  
I pursed my lips into a hard, thin line, "Sick?" I sighed, "Are you sure I can't talk to him? Tell him to get better, or something?"  
That mysterious little light shone again in her eyes, "Alright. Come in, just for a bit, though."  
I gave her a polite smile, then made a beeline for Mike's room. I poked my head in, spotting first the little waste basket by his bed, and then, him, laying on his bed. He had a drowsy expression on his face, eyes lidded.  
I closed the door behind me, sitting on the edge of Mike's bed next to him, "Mikey? You feeling okay?"  
He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand, blinking slowly, "Sorry I couldn't make it, Stanny."  
I frowned, pressing a hand to his forehead to see how warm it was-that being a lot, "That's not what I asked, Michael Evan Hanlon."  
A smile graced Mike's face, "Full naming me? Am I in trouble?" He added, "Stanley Connor Uris."  
I rolled my eyes, "You're burning up, you idiot."  
Mike closed his eyes, leaning his head against his pillow again, "I know. My mom says I'm really contagious, too, hun. You should go so you don't get sick."  
I shook my head, "I'm going to help you get better," I quickly added, "If your mom lets me stay, I mean."  
Mike let out a sigh, "She will, unfortunately. You're going to get sick, and I'm going to feel awful about it, I hope you know."  
I lifted his hand to press a light kiss to his knuckles, "I'm aware."


	18. Argument

Stan and Mike were twenty-three years old. They've been separated for too long to completely understand. It's been, what, a full decade since they first met? And then Stan left for college at 18 to go to Georgia... They'd written letters back and forth at first, but eventually Mike wrote him one and Stan had absolutely no idea who he was.  
But Stan was coming back. Back to Derry. His aunt was holding a funeral for his father, and naturally, he was invited.   
Stan packed his bags with movements so slow that an ice berg would've won in a race with them. He was nervous for a reason that he couldn't explain. Stan hadn't had the closest relationship with his father. A lot like Richie, he just couldn't connect to his parents all that well, especially after something happened. He couldn't remember what happened, but it was something. Something big and scary and horrible.  
Stan sucked in a breath, then closed his last big of luggage. His flight was in a couple of hours, and normally he'd have already been fully packed and probably waiting at the airport by now, but something was holding him back.  
Stan shook his head, hands shaking a bit as he moved to pack his things away. He felt a hand on his shoulder, and for a moment, for a split moment, he imagined someone else standing behind him. Someone just a bit shorter than him, someone kind, someone like him that was struggling like he was. Then, he heard Patty speak, "Stan, you sure you're going to be okay going by yourself? I can still try and get a seat on the flight."  
His girlfriend, Patty, staring up at him with pretty chocolate brown eyes and a loving expression. He went out to his car, setting his luggage in the passenger's side seat. He closed the door and went around to the other side, opening his door, "No. I can't explain it, but I need to go alone." He felt like there was a driving force, telling him to go to Derry alone.   
Patty frowned, then sighed, "Alright. Just be safe, alright?" She paused, giving him a warm smile, "Stanny?"  
There was a familiarity with that nickname. He wasn't sure she'd ever called him that before. But someone else did. Someone that he was close to. That gave him a smile similar to the one she was giving him.  
He pressed a light kiss to her lips, running a hand over her hair, "Of course."  
He left, then. For the flight, which was long and underwhelming.  
Underwhelming until they flew over Maine. He watched the little plane icon as it grew closer and closer to their destination. The little pinpoint in the far side of the country. It made his stomach turn.  
It took him a very short amount of time to retrieve his bags. Strange because it usually took much longer. He simply passed it off as that there weren't that many people in the airport on that particular day, (of course that, in of itself, was an oddity).  
Stan had booked a hotel room in Derry for the couple of nights he'd be staying. He took a cab from the airport to it. Then, after unpacking and re-dressing his bed so that he knew it was clean, he took another cab to downtown Derry, deciding to walk around before he had to talk with his aunt about his father, about getting his speech together for the funeral.  
His head started to hurt a bit, and he rubbed his temples. He saw the old public library, and a small memory of him talking with someone-maybe a couple of someones-there. He might've had a couple of friends into books, but he wasn't sure.  
Stan hadn't realized he'd walked in until he heard his name, following the sound of something large hitting the ground, "Stanley?"  
His eyes connected with a pair from across the room, and he felt memories rushing at him as strong as the winds in a hurricane. Stan could've been knocked off his feet at them. The other man rushed forward, catching him off guard by enveloping him in a back breaking hug. The stranger that wasn't exactly a stranger pulled back a bit, hands moving to cup his cheeks, "What are you doing here?"  
Stan's eyes were transfixed on his face. Nice features being muddled with a frown and lines of worry in his forehead. Stan could see that the other lost sleep by the dark marks under his eyes, "I-I'm sorry...Who are you?" The face was so familiar. And Stan could see them doing things in his memories, but he couldn't put a name to him.  
The other's shoulders drooped a bit at that, and the warm hands were taken off of his cheeks, "I-I'm sorry. I shouldn't have-Of course you wouldn't remember-It's just-"   
Stan saw the other's hands were fiddling with the end of his shirt, nervous for a reason Stan didn't understand, "Are you okay?" Stan's brows were furrowed with concern and confusion. Along with some frustration that he couldn't remember this man's name.  
"Yes. I'm sorry. I'm fine. It's just-" he seemed to be searching for words, "Do you remember anything?" When Stan shook his head-he couldn't remember much despite the slight bits of memories, (just flashes of things: books and papers spread across a desk, fond smiles exchanged, a hot sun on a bright day, and then, at last, the intertwining of fingers), the other put a hand to his chest, "I'm Mike. Hanlon. We were childhood-" Mike faltered, "-friends."  
It all came back to him in one swift rush. His head was spinning, but his eyes were opened, "Mike? Mike! I do remember you. We-We..." Stan put pieces of the puzzle together, "-We weren't friends. We were, but then we weren't. We were...closer than that."  
A blush lit up the very tip of Mike's nose, and he nodded, "You do remember." Mike shook his head, "But that's besides the point. What are you doing here?"  
Stan had, for a moment, forgotten what he'd been there for. It was like he was a kid again. Living here. With his parents. Going to school. His friends. And Mike. He licked his lips, which were suddenly dry, "Funeral. For my father."  
Mike gave out a short hum, "My condolences."  
Stan nodded, "Mm, it's alright." He added, "How've you been, then? Any job?"  
Mike gestured around, "I work here. Head librarian Hanlon," he quipped, "Do you have a place to stay? I'd be happy to offer you a room."  
Stan responded, "Actually, if you don't mind, I'd love to." He had a room, sure, but, hell, he can cancel that. He wanted to know more about why he couldn't remember much about this town. Or about Mike.  
Mike smiled, the dimples in his cheeks making an appearance, "I don't mind at all. Just let me finish here and I'll drive you to it."  
Stan watched the other walk over to wear he'd knocked over what happened to be a cart with books stacked on it to be shelved again. He felt his pager buzz, and he unclipped it from off of his khaki's. His aunt.  
Stan would have to meet her later.   
Once Mike was done with his duties at the library, the two left to go back to the hotel to pick up Stan's luggage, and then to Mike's place. Stan smiled, "You still live on the farm?"  
Mike's eyes sparkled, "You remember it?"   
"Yeah. Just a bit. I remember something about you being home schooled, and me and some of the others-though I can't remember them-we'd bike to your farm. And tell you about what school was like that day, mostly about us getting into trouble, I think. And you'd think that was the coolest thing because you spent the day reading, playing with animals, and messing around on an old tire swing."  
Mike chuckled a bit, "That's a bit specific, but yeah, that was a lot of my childhood."  
They went inside, Mike opting to carry one of Stan's bags, despite his protest.   
They spent the rest of the day catching up.   
Mike made the two of them some tea, and Stan sat cross legged on a chair, "Yeah, I live in Georgia now. I'm an accountant; how's that for a twist in fate? I'm a walking stereotype. Might as well get out my old yamaka and carry my Torah to work."  
Mike laughed a bit, "If I remember correctly, you weren't even sure what kosher meant as a child."  
Stan snorted, "You're right. Honestly, I'm still not completely sure."  
Mike set his cup down, "So, what else have you been up to? Any special someone in your life?" There was s certain tone in Mike's voice that Stan couldn't quite place.  
Stan sipped his tea, "I have a girlfriend. Patty. What about yourself?"  
Mike shook his head, "No. To be honest..." Mike let slip a small smile, "Nevermind."  
"What?"  
Mike just waved it away, standing to place his now-empty cup in the sink for him to wash later.   
Stan's lips pursed with slight annoyance, "C'mon. Tell me."   
Mike leaned against a counter, about to open his mouth when Stan's pager went off again. He stood, "I'm sorry. That's my aunt. She wants to speak with me about the funeral tomorrow."  
Mike gave out a soft sigh, "Alright. Do you need a ride?"  
Stan shook his head, "I'll be alright." He gave Mike a friendly wave before leaving to meet with his aunt.  
When he came back, Mike was already sleeping-or at least resting-in his bedroom. Stan went to the guest bedroom that Mike had led him to earlier, then changed his clothes and took a shower.   
Once Stan fell asleep, he felt like he hadn't really fully woken up until it was time to leave town again. The funeral was small, quiet. Held in the only temple in town. Stan spoke a few words that he'd prepared, but didn't shed a tear. He felt a disconnection between him and the rest of his family that attended. Even his mother seemed to be in another planet.  
Stan left after the service ended, his skin crawling with discomfort. He didn't-couldn't stick around with them much longer.   
He took a cab back up to Mike's farm, feeling a tightness in his chest. He could've sworn people were looking at him differently now. He got out, tossing some cash at the driver, telling him to wait for him to get his things, and crawling out, the sun blinding him.   
Stan gave a knock on the door, almost wanting to just leave town already without bothering to grab his things. They were replaceable.  
Stan's head hurt worse now than when he first arrived.   
Mike opened the door, giving him a slight smile, though the circles under his eyes seemed a tad bit darker, "Hi again."  
Stan was irritable, tired and dry, "Can I get my things? I have a flight in a few hours."  
Mike's smile dropped, "Leaving already?"   
Stan scowled a bit, "I have a life back in Georgia. I have to get back to it. Besides, there's nothing here for me."  
Stan noticed Mike flinch a bit, and though he felt guilty for the bitterness he was feeling, he didn't apologize, "Listen, I just have to get out of here. My head hurts and Patty is expecting me."  
Mike nodded, opening to door wider and stepping aside. Stan felt eyes on him and he turned, hands in his hair and tugging frustratedly, "I need some space. Please." He put inflection on the last word.  
Mike turned his head, holding his arm with the opposite hand, throwing a quiet 'sorry' Stan's way.  
Stan sighed, huffy and upset, and went to gather his luggage, setting it by the door.  
Mike tried again, "I can drive you to the airport, if you'd like, Stanny."   
A pang of guilt and anger-not anger, frustration, complete and utter frustration at everything-shot through his heart, "Stop that! Stop being so nice! I can take care of myself, okay? I can't breathe, Mike!" Stan's eyes were filling with tears from all of the hurt he was feeling, "I have to go back and live my life, and I can't do that with you acting so damn...Ugh!" Stan said with added scorn that he hoped would make Mike back off a bit, "And stop calling me that, would you?"  
Stan grabbed the handles of both of his bags and started to leave, catching a glimpse of Mike out of the corner of his eyes as he went to shut the door. Mike was form was tense, nervous, but at the same time, utterly drooped over with helplessness. His eyebrows were knitted up with concern-no, that wasn't concern, it was sadness, and part of his bottom lip was being bitten.   
Stan stopped for a moment, considering turning back. Dropping his things and opening the door wide again so that he could hug Mike close to him, kiss him and tell him how sorry he was. That he was just confused and that his head hurt, and Mike, sweet, sensitive Mike would understand completely because this town and its memories were difficult to handle. And they'd embrace and Stan would stay. He'd stay with Mike for the rest of his life, and he'd be so happy. They'd be happy. He'd feel Mike's smile against a patch of skin on his neck as he nuzzled into the crook there. And Stan would fall in love all over again.  
Stan hesitated, but he lifted his gaze, turning it back to the cab waiting on him.  
He never turned back.


	19. Coming Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Weow. I can't believe I managed to write something for the first time in a week.

Mike shrugged off his bag, setting it down on the table. He'd just come home from the Baptist school his parents had him go to. He didn't exactly dislike that fact, as he knew his parents were sending him there to protect him, but he didn't like some of those at the school.

Mike had a secret. Or was it a secret? His parents knew. His friends knew. Does it count as a secret if he's only keeping it from those at school?

Mike wasn't sure. He twiddled his thumbs, finding his mother folding some of the laundry. He went up to her, planting a soft kiss on her cheek as a greeting, and started to help her. Mike kept his eyes down, though he wasn't sure why.

His mother gave him a smile, "How was school?"

Mike had always lied about that. To her, at least. He didn't want to make her upset. He knew she wanted him to be happy, and all he wanted was the same for her. His mother frowned, "Honey, did someone say something to you at school?"

He knew what his mother was thinking. This was only reason he even went to a separate school than the rest of his friends. She was scared he'd be hurt at a public school. It wasn't illegal exactly, not like it was in the South, but...There also wasn't a law that really protected him like the other kids.

Mike wanted to tell his mother that it didn't matter, anyway. That he was still hurt, even though he didn't go to the same school as his bullies. Bowers still managed to chase him down, to hit him, to burn him with the cherry of the cigarettes he stole from his father, to force his face into a slab of raw meat. Bowers still managed to kill his dog, and get away with it because the police in this town didn't care.

But that wasn't what bothered Mike. Not at this time, anyway.

Mike frowned, "Mom..." He could still turn back; he still had the option to not tell her what was bothering him about his stupid school, "Mom, my teacher asked us kids to write a poem for someone we like for Valentine's Day."

She stopped folding one of his father's shirts to sit down on the couch with him. She set the basket in between them down on the floor, "Okay."

He sighed, "And we're all supposed to have someone in mind for it, but..."

She gave him a nod, "Go on, Mike."

Mike was tense, "I don't think they're going to like me writing about who I like. Mom, I don't want them to look at me, and they're going to. They don't like people like me."

Mike's mom laid a hand over his, comforting him, "Baby, what have I always told you? You're different than anyone else in this town. You have a good head on your shoulders. You're strong, smart, and I know you're kind. They can't take that away from you, can they?" Mike shook his head in response, and she continued with a smile on her face, "So you write that Valentine about whoever you want to, and they're going to have to accept that."

Mike took the opportunity to hug his mother tight, "Thanks, Mom." He pulled away from her, noticing the worry in her eyes, despite her words.

He put on a brave face for her, "I'm going to start on my poem."

As he was leaving to go sit at the table to work on his project, she sent him a warm smile, "Better let me read it afterward."

He was sure she'd be reading it, all right.

The next day at school, Mike raised his hand high when the teacher asked who wanted to present their poem first.

Mike stood in front of his classmates, licking his bottom lip, which was becoming dryer by the second. He read the short haiku aloud, "There's light in his eyes/When he smiles, I fall apart/Stanley is my sun."

It was short, sweet, and it made his point. Mike almost gave out a smile of victory...until he saw his teacher's expression, "I thought I told you to write something about a girl you like."

Mike shifted, suddenly wishing he'd given in and made something about Beverly, "Well, sir," he started politely, "I don't like a girl, but I am head over heels for a boy."

He pretended not to notice his classmates staring as he was sent to talk to the school principal, apparently for being a disruption.

He pretended not to notice, too, when one of the boys whispered a harsh name to him on his way out, one that struck worse than all of the names Bowers and his gang tended to throw at him. Worse because he wasn't used to someone besides Bowers calling him names. 

Or worse because it wasn't just about him, but about Stan as well.

Mike was calm as his mother was called to the school. He was calm, too, when she snapped at the principal, saying that Mike needed a school that would accept him, because the public school in Derry sure as hell wouldn't.

Mike was calm even when his father was called in, and his large, callused hands set gently on Mike's shoulders as if to tell him everything was okay. 

However, Mike lost his temperance when the principal threatened to call Stanley's parents. "You can't do that!"

The principal's gaze when to him, a bored, though dangerous glint in his eyes, "And why not?"

"Sir, please, you don't understand, Stan's parents aren't like mine. They won't understand. There's... There's laws against this that they believe in, and-and Stan doesn't want them to know. Please, don't hurt him." Mike turned to his father, pleading with him, "Don't let them tell."

Mike was blessed. Even when laws against homosexuality were set in this country, his parents didn't think it big that their son liked a boy. They loved him, no matter who he liked, because they knew he wasn't hurting anyone. His father gave his shoulder a reassuring pat, as if to tell him that he'd take care of it, "Go on home with your mom, Mike."

Mike did as told, as his mother signed him out of school for the day. He felt like he was going to cry, "Mom, they can't do that, right? They can't out him like that, right?"

Mike felt helpless, like a child rather than a teenager more than capable of taking care of himself, because of this dreadful situation.

His mother shook her head, "I don't know, Mike, I don't." She gave him a glance from the side, "You tell me if they say anything like this to you again, hear me? And I'll get you out of that school. I'll homeschool you, if I have to. But you don't let them push you around."

Mike nodded, "I won't, Mom."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

She nodded, "Okay." His mother fell silent for moment before saying again, "You never told me his name, you know?"

Mike felt guilt build in him again, "I know."

"Or what he looks like."

"I know."

"Just that he was a boy, and that you loved him."

Mike smiled at that, "Yeah."

She reached over to pull Mike into a hug, "Can I meet him?"

Mike looked up at her quizzically, "You want to meet Stan?"

The sparkle in his mother's eyes came back, "That's a yes?"

Mike nodded, grinning, "Yes."

Mike decided he didn't care what the kids at school thought after that. Because his parents loved him, cared for him, no matter what, and that's all that mattered. 

Not to mention that they came to adore Stan just as much as they adored him.


	20. Self Harm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning for light, not fully NSFW, and explicit self harm.

Stan stared into his mirror almost dully. His face was near void of any and all emotion, as he continued staring into the reflection of himself. 

He just wanted to feel something. Something, anything. The emptiness was pouring over him as harsh as a hurricane, thrashing, beating him around until he felt nothing. 

He often wished away the hurt that held him by the throat on the daily. It twisted its long fingers until he couldn't breathe. Even sitting with his friends at lunch became a struggle. They would speak, eyes on him as they awaited an answer, and he'd be choking.

He'd do anything to have that over this numbness he felt now.

Stan slumped. He was 17, almost ready to graduate. He had a group of friends that loved him, and that he loved back. He'd been accepted to a nice university in Georgia, and was planning to go as soon as he could. Stan had everything going for him, and yet...he couldn't enjoy it.

Instead of feeling happy, excited, even anxious for what lay ahead, he felt nothing but bitter emptiness, laced with hatred for himself.

Stan's soft brown eyes turned cold as they flickered toward a pack of razors he kept on the center of his cabinet shelf.

His hands shook as he reached for one, lips parted as he sucked in a steady breath, convincing himself that the pain he'd feel is better than the numbness consuming him.

It hadn't been the first time. Stan had done it enough times before to know when to stop, how to make the bleeding lessen, and most importantly, how to cover the scars so no one will know.

Sweet, intense pain flared up when the blade cut his thigh. That's where you do it. The thighs, the inner parts. That's how you make sure that no one ever finds out. They're hidden. 

Just like the pain inside.

Hidden.

And that's the only upside.

Stan cleaned the mess. It was really the only thing he was ever good at. Cleaning. Scrubbing until he couldn't see any signs of a mess, and then some. He threw out the blade, and then dabbed at the blood on his thighs before sliding on a loose pair of sweats that wouldn't cling to him as much as regular pajamas would.

Stan forced himself to go to bed, the pain short lasting, and the numbness beginning to overwhelm him once more.

The next day was a Saturday, meaning he'd be able to spend it with the people that mattered the most to him. A good thing, considering what he'd been going through.

The first person to greet him was on his doorstep, a grin on his beautiful features, arms open to envelope Stan in a warm embrace, "Hey, lovebird, how are you?"

Stan let a smile grace his face, a hand on the back of his boyfriend's neck, and the other around his waist, "Hi, Mike."

Mike pressed a light kiss to Stan's cheek, then pulled back once Richie called for them, "C'mon, Kingfish, get your boy and let's go!"

Stan pursed his lips, "Richie, stop calling him that. It's fucking racist."

Mike gave Stan's hand a light squeeze, "It's fine, hun. I'm used to it by now."

Stan huffed, "It's not fine."

"He doesn't mean anything by it. Now, c'mon, love," Mike pressed another soft kiss to Stan's nose before pulling him along.

Stan obliged, and the rest of their day went by fine. There was a short moment where Stan almost had a panic attack when Richie had grabbed his foot under the water, but Eddie had quickly told Richie to knock it off. The curly haired prankster did as told at hearing the stern voice of the other boy, shooting Stan a genuine apology, which Stan accepted.

The group began to head home when the sun started to streak the sky with orange and yellow marks, all saying their goodbyes, though Stan noticed Richie and Eddie bumping shoulders as they walked toward a shared direction. He let slip a small smile at that. The couple made him a bit happy, though they could annoy him immensely.

Stan felt strong arms slip around his waist, and soft lips planted a kiss on the lobe of his ear, "Hey, think you can spend the night? My parents shouldn't be back in town until tomorrow morning."

Stan let out a soft sigh; Mike's lips trailed down his throat, and latched somewhere on his shoulder, making his stomach feel warm and bubbly.

Stan nodded, "Sure." He could feel Mike's grin on his skin, and was pulled along to Mike's house, eventually landing gently on the couch in Mike's living room, his boyfriend's lips latched onto his own. Wandering hands stayed first on Stan's hips, then traveled to cup his cheeks in an embrace that seemed too loving for it to be used on him.

Stan's arms wrapped around Mike's shoulders, locking Mike in their kiss. Face flushed, lips parted, Mike looked absolutely gorgeous, like an angel sent down to Earth to love Stan and Stan alone.

Mike broke the kiss, drawing out a whine from a breathless Stan. The boy hovering over him was grinning, "You're beautiful, you know?"

Stan brought a hand to Mike's cheek, "Not as beautiful as you."

Mike let out a laugh, "Agree to disagree, my love." Stan flushed deeper at the pet name.

He squirmed a bit under Mike's gaze, then laughed with him, "Stop looking at me like that."

Mike's lips went to his neck, and he mumbled out a quiet, "Like what?"

"Like I'm some great god, or something."

Mike's fingers played with the edge of his shirt, "But you are, baby, you're the greatest." 

Stan rolled his eyes, "Agree to disagree again."

Mike hummed against his skin, "I hate that you do that. I love you, but I hate that."

Stan let out a light gasp as teeth scraped over the sensitive spot on his throat, "What...What do you mean?"

One of Mike's warm hands lay flat against Stan's stomach, and the other worked his shirt up, "You believing you're anything less than perfect." Mike's lips left Stan's neck, as he pushed himself up to fully take off Stan's shirt. He bit his bottom lip, loving the sight, "You're so beautiful. I don't understand how you can't see that."

Stan let his head rest against the arm of Mike's couch, while the other left a trail of kisses down his chest, "Mi-ike," his voice broke, "I just-Come on, don't make me talk about this now."

Mike sighed, breath hot against Stan's already warm skin, "Okay, okay. But we have to talk about this soon." He lowered himself again, lips connecting with the zipper of Stan's pants. 

Stan pursed his lips, eyes fluttering shut as Mike's lips were pulled away, replaced with two warm hands undoing the button of his khaki's. He lifted his lower half up to help Mike take his pants off.

Mike's voice became less husky all of a sudden, "Stanny?"

Stan's eyes were closed, head lolled back as he ached for Mike to touch him with those warm hands, "Yeah, Mikey?"

Mike's touch hovered over his upper thighs, "Baby, what are these?"

Stan froze, muscles tensed as recollections of what he'd done the night before swarmed his brain. He swallowed the lump in his throat, "What...What do you mean?"

Mike cupped his cheek, leading Stan's gaze to connect with his own, "Honey, please tell me."

Stan didn't want to. He wanted them to continue what they'd been doing. He wanted Mike to undress, and kiss him, and take him. He didn't want this.

But looking into Mike's eyes, seeing the tears forming in his sensitive boyfriend's orbs, Stan broke, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Mikey. I-I don't want to. I never really want to, but it's-it feels better than-" Stan trailed off.

Mike frowned, "Better than what?"

"Better than nothing! I don't know! Mike, sometimes I just feel so alone, so worthless, like I mean nothing. And I still have nightmares. And sometimes I feel so dirty that I scrub and I scrub until my skin burns. And it fucking hurts, Mike, but I can't not do it. This-" he gestured toward his thighs, "-makes it somehow better because instead of feeling nothing, or feeling dirty, I feel the sting. And that's better somehow." Stan's eyes squeezed shut again, and tears rolled down his cheeks. How could he be so stupid as to let this happen?

"Hey, hey," Mike soothed, fingers running through his curls, "Baby, please, calm down. Can you take some breaths with me?" He began to take exaggerated breaths, prompting Stan to follow them, "In, and out. In, out. There you go, my love, there you go." 

Stan managed to bury his face in Mike's neck, "I'm sorry, Mike, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Mike rocked them back and forth, soothingly, sitting up and bringing Stan with him, "Don't be sorry, honey, don't be sorry." He pulled back enough to press their lips together in a manner that seemed too loving to be true, "You know...Y-You know you can talk to me about this, right?"

Stan whimpered, "I don't want to bother you."

The tears that had been stinging Mike's eyes finally rolled down his face, a sob racking his body, "Baby...You won't bother me!" He held Stan closer to his chest, burying his face in Stan's hair.

Stan hadn't seen Mike so distraught since they were 14. He'd walked in on Mike hugging his knees to his chest, in the midst of a panic attack. He'd had a flashback. The sound of the snap of Henry's neck haunted him, playing over and over again, causing guilt to weigh down on Mike's heavy heart. 

Stan hadn't been able to help much, then, either. 

He leaned up to connect their lips again more a brief moment, "Mike...I-I'm so sorry. Don't cry, Mikey, don't-" he sighed deeply, "I'll try and talk to you m-more about...about all this. I should've told you. I'm so sorry."

Mike's arms loosened up a bit around his waist, and Stan's heart broke when he saw the redness around Mike's puffy eyes, the tear stained cheeks, the hurt expression, "I'm so sorry," Stan repeated.

Mike sniffed, "D-Don't be. I just wish you would've told me you were hurting," he breathed deeply, "I love you, Stan."

Stan broke out into a smile, despite himself, "I love you, too, Mike." 

Mike nodded a bit, shaking, before enveloping him in another hug, "I guess that ruined the moment, huh?"

Stan laughed a quiet, broken laugh, "Yeah, I guess it did."

Mike moved, easing Stan off of him, and went to grab a blanket, pulling it around their shoulders, "You should get dressed, too, my love."

Stan pulled himself closer to Mike, "Later, Mikey, I want to be close to you right now." He hesitated, "That okay?"

Mike just nodded, "Always, baby, always."


	21. Drug Abuse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is an exploration of the new upcoming movie's choice to make Mike a drug user, as well as an idea I had for a scene reflecting the miniseries' fridge scene with Stan.

Mike looked around at his small group of friends as they gathered in the back of the library at which he worked.

He was becoming anxious. They should all be here by now, and yet only five of the six of his friends were present. He rubbed his forearm, trying to remain calm as his friends laughed with one another. Richie was the center of attention, as he'd been when they were younger, joking around with Eddie, messing with the other man's hair.

Mike swallowed the lump in his throat, watching the two. They'd always fit together so nicely. After all these years separated, they clicked. It was nice to see, but it caused a hurt in Mike's heart. One which hadn't been so fresh in some time. Not to say it wasn't usually there, but after time passed, the hurt had become more of a dull throb.

Mike jumped when a hand was suddenly on his arm. He bit his lip, turning his head to see that it was only Beverly, a soft frown on her lips, "Mike? Are you alright?"

He gave her a light smile, "I'm fine, Bev, thanks. I'm just-I'm going to get something to drink."

He slipped out of her gentle touch to go into his office where he had a small fridge. There should be something stronger in there to lessen the pain in his heart.

Mike sighed, remembering back on a time where he'd feel pity for anyone that drank, or, God forbid, anything worse. His grandmother would scold him for even hold a lingering gaze on a bottle or a pack of cigarettes.

Look at where that got him. He wears long sleeved shirts just to cover the scars littering his arms where he'd inserted needles, the precious, limited liquid surging into his veins, providing him a release from the hell he stayed in.

On days where he found he didn't have the funds for this release, he'd do something similar to what he was doing now. Reach into his fridge to find a good bottle of liquor, pour himself a glass, and wait to waste away.

Mike's heart pounded for a reason he couldn't quite explain. His hand was shaking as he reached to open his mini fridge, as if expecting some awful thing to happen. Maybe his friends would somehow find an old needle, maybe they'd see the bottles that still needed to be picked up for recycling, maybe Stan would arrive just when he was emptying another bottle, in shambles on the ground. 

That thought made Mike's heart pang just enough for him to finally tug at the handle. His eyes flew open at the sight that welcomed him.

He stumbled back, his waist hitting his desk. He blinked several times, trying to make the image go away.

A head. A-A disembodied head was in his fridge. 

It had screamed when he'd seen it, and so had he. Mike blinked, shaking his head. That couldn't be...It looks so much like...No, no, that...

"Stan?"

The head shrieked with laughter, causing Mike to jump, lose his footing, and fall to the floor. "Stan! He asks me if I'm Stan! Do I look like him? Well then, buddy, I'm him, alright!"

The head creaked, moving toward the edge of the fridge. Mike couldn't seem to move, frozen in spot as he watched the head began to grow into a full body, as if the rest of Stan had been in the back of the fridge, all crumpled up like a wad of paper that was hard to smooth out.

Curled hair flopped over glazed over eyes; limbs stretched, popping as they began to snap into place. Mike's lip trembled, "Stan?"

He felt like a little kid, scared of the monster under his bed. Mike clamped his hand forcefully over his mouth to keep from screaming as the tall, bony figure stood over him. Teeth flashing, it leaned forward, head only a few inches away from his face. "What's wrong, Mike?" It spoke with Stan's voice, cracking and hoarse, but still melodic to him, "I'm here," it took a dramatic pause, "Mikey, hoooney. What happened to you?" It rolled up his shirt sleeves, a finger that was as cold as ice trailing over his forearm, "Tsk tsk, this is just pitiful."

Mike flinched, the fingernail digging into the spot where he most often placed the needle. He gasped, chest heaving, tears stinging his eyes, "Stan, sto-op," he cried out, "Please."

It's hand found his throat, the other hand trailing its fingers down his face, almost cupping his cheek. Mike trembled, as it spoke to him, "What, Mikey, what dear? Don't you want a kiss?" 

Dark eyes gleamed down at him, as he choked out a sob, "Stan..." The hand around his throat grew tighter, and he thought for a second that Stan's teeth were growing more pointed by the second-

"Mike!" 

The door to his office was slammed open, the scared voice of Beverly calling out to him, followed by others.

The vice grip around his throat was suddenly gone, and he slumped backward against his desk, coughing.

Beverly rushed toward him, a delicate hand on his shoulder, "Mike, stay with us. Are you okay?"

He managed to croak out, "Where is he?"

"Where is who?"

Mike sobbed, "Stan! He was just here, he-he was-"

Richie cut in, "Jesus Christ, Kingfish, if that was Stan, then I'm Madonna."

Mike felt Beverly rub soothing circles onto his hand, "What do you mean? Didn't you see him? He was just-" It was then that the logical part of his brain caught up to him, "It-It wasn't him. It..." Mike struggled to stand up, "It used him. It used Stan!" The thought sent shivers down his spine. How could he have been so stupid to fall for the trap? 

Bill said quietly, "I-It's like wh-when I-I-It used G-Guh-Guh...Georgie against me."

Beverly asked, "Why Stan, though? Because he's still not here?" She got closer to Mike, resting her head on his shoulder, and he responded by rubbing her back gently.

Mike sighed, "It...Knows what we fear. Like when we were younger. For Bill, It was Georgie because that's who he had taken from him. Because he was afraid George hated him. For me...It's become Stan because-" Mike rubbed his forearm, "Stan and I were in love."

Richie was the first to say something, "Yowza! Talk about a vanilla chocolate swirl!" Eddie glared at him, "Rich, everything you say to Mike is just racist." Richie shrugged.

Mike frowned deeper, "But It used Stan for some other reason. I can feel it." 

It was then that Mike's phone rang. A hush fell over the room due to the sheer timing of it. Mike furrowed his brow, answering his phone, "Yes?...Yes, this is Mike Hanlon."

Mike didn't think he could've possibly had another heartbreak that day, and yet somehow, he did. He slowly set down his phone after giving the officer on the other end a shallow thanks.

Mike pursed his lips, "That was the Uris residence."

"Finally! Tell Stan he'd better have a damn good reason for being so late," Richie exclaimed, an arm around Eddie's shoulders.

Mike gave him a deeply sad look, "That was an Atlanta police officer. Stanley was found dead in his bath shortly after I'd called him. His...His wrists were slit. Suicide." Mike was barely able to get out the news before he let out another sob, "Shi-it."

Richie sat as if his legs had crumbled underneath his weight, "Stan's... Dead?" He shook his head, "Fuck you, Hanlon, tell me the truth now. His flight was delayed, right?"

Beverly glared at him, arms now around Mike's shoulders, his face buried in her neck.

Richie excused himself, followed quickly by Eddie, who chased after him.

Beverly ran a hand over Mike's exposed arm, frowning, "Mike, hun, what're these marks from?"

Mike felt like he was drowning, too many things happening to him at once. He spoke honestly because he couldn't manage to come up with a good lie as he was grieving. He choked out a short explanation about his years on drugs, and Beverly only hugged him tighter.

Mike felt a suffocating weight on his chest, "I'm sorry, guys, I'm sorry. We need...We need a plan, not to cry. I'm sorry."

Beverly took his face in her hands, "Don't be sorry, Mike, you've had a hard night. Come on, let's go get to the hotel, and we can talk plans in the morning."

Reluctantly, Mike followed her as she led him by the hand. He threw one last look to his fridge.

The pain in his heart was so much worse now. If he knew one thing, it was that he wouldn't let It get away with doing this to him and his friends.

Mike considered one last thing before getting to force himself into sleep that night, Beverly curled up on one side of him, and Ben on the other, trying to comfort him: He didn't even get to say goodbye to Stan, and that was unforgivable. 

Mike would kill It if it was the last thing he did.


	22. Prompt 22: NSFW

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This took me so long to write because I kept putting it off. Plz save me

Mike hadn't ever really been sure what people saw in sexual acts. He didn't find it to be exactly appealing, in any manner. Sure, certain people were attractive, and he'd had a few crushes before, but the attraction wasn't ever sexual. He liked personalities, and while he could appreciate a person's looks, it wasn't something he necessarily considered.

Over his short life of seventeen years, he'd had exactly three crushes.

The first was Beverly.

He considered this crush to be natural, as she was the only girl he hung around, the only one in their tightly knit group. He assumed that most, if not all, of the boys in their group had a crush on her at one point or another.

Beverly was tall, at least she was taller than Eddie and Ben, and pretty. Pretty natural curls and a face full of freckles. Her smile was radiant, and she would make his stomach flip when her smile would be directed toward him. 

He never told her, as he knew that she was infatuated with Bill. It hadn't hurt, really. Mike accepted that she liked the other boy and moved on.

That led him to his second crush.

Ben Hanscom.

This certain crush lasted longer, almost an entire year, in fact.

The shorter boy led Mike to question himself more than he had with his crush on Beverly. It threw him for a loop, being attracted to another male, but eventually, after some analysis, he understood why he found himself liking Ben.

The boy was smart, having spent so much of his time to himself, engaged in reading about this and that. He was also passionate. Mike would listen on end to Ben speak about the town's history, noting how Ben's cheeks would become flushed with excitement, how his eyes would sparkle.

Mike accepted that he was attracted to males, as well as females, and eventually opened up to Ben about it. It had been a lazy Sunday, Ben's head in Mike's lap as he spoke about how there had been a racist cult group in the town, only a few decades before, that they had burned down several buildings belonging to African-American families.

Mike, of course, knew this, as his grandfather had told him all about their town's struggle with racial discrimination several times. He nodded, giving Ben a quiet hum of interest, though he was still mulling over his liking to Ben.

Ben, being the attentive boy he was, caught on, "You okay, Mike?" He asked, sitting up, "You seem quiet."

Mike missed the warmth Ben had provided, "Oh, well, yes, I'm fine." He gave Ben a smile, "Actually, I was going to tell you something."

Ben tilted his head, "Yeah?"

Mike suddenly felt awkward. He'd been planning this out for some time, rehearsing the words in his head time and time again, but actually saying them was something different altogether. He blushed, "You know..." He laughed due to sheer awkwardness, "You look really pretty when you talk about that stuff." He could hit himself for that. 

Ben furrowed his brow for a moment, then as realization hit him, he gave Mike a shy smile, "Oh...Oh...Mike, I'm not-" he hid his face, "Ugh, I'm sorry, dude! I'm not-I like Beverly."

Mike hadn't been surprised at that, either. He should've known that Ben was still hung up on Bev. He only shook his head, "Hey, don't be sorry, Benji. I just wanted to tell you."

Ben's eyes went soft at that, and they'd embraced, one that Mike treasured. He managed to move on from that heartbreak, one that hurt worse than the one Bev unknowingly gave him.

He didn't have another crush for a few months. And that one? That one hit hard.

Stanley Uris.

Stanley was, to Mike, a godsend. Mike didn't understand how he hadn't seen the beauty of the other boy before. Brown curls falling over his forehead, combed neatly each morning to sit exactly as Stan liked. Eyes that could both destroy and rebuild a person in a matter of seconds. A voice that could cut through brick, and melt Mike's heart with only a few words.

Mike fell hard and fast for Stan.

It was a miserable crush, in a way, as Mike was sure Stan liked Bill. The two had a special relationship that Mike was sure would cause Stan to fall. 

It was for that reason that he didn't tell Stan. He harbored that crush, quickly turning into a deep adoration and love, for too long. Too, too long.

It was Stan who, after years of pining, eventually caught Mike off guard with a forceful kiss planted on his lips. Mike had laughed, causing Stan to deplete, and he quickly reassured the other boy, explaining that he was just so relieved. 

The short kiss led to a short speech from Stan that boiled down to him asking Mike out, which overwhelmed him so much that he pressed a softer, gentler kiss to Stan's lips as a yes.

No one would've expected the arguably dry confession to lead to years of dating.

No one would've expected that Stan, stressed out, anxiety ridden, neat little Stan, would be the one that always initiated any touching. And certainly, not even trashmouth Tozier would've called that Stan would be the one to come over to Mike's place in the midst of night for their first time...

Mike hadn't been asleep, and so he'd heard the quiet callings of Stan to his window soon after they started.

He stuck his head out of the window, "Stan? What are you doing here?" Concern and confusion suddenly spiked through Mike's veins.

The other boy looked all too tired, though this was painfully usual of him, with the dark circles under his eyes and consistently normal yawns during conversation. "Can I come in?"

Mike licked his lips, nodding despite the fear of being caught, "Yeah, sure, hurry though." Mike went to unlock the door, ushering Stan into his room briskly and quietly, shutting the door behind them, "What's going on, Stan? You hurt? Nightmare?"

Stan shook his head curtly, leaning in toward Mike, "No, no. Well, not hurt exactly..."

Mike frowned, "Stanny?" His head was beginning to swarm with ideas of what the boy could mean. He moved to cup Stan's cheek when he was stopped by Stan holding his forearm, "Shh, Mike, I'm fine. Relax."

Mike shook his head slightly, "Baby?" 

Stan's low whine made all of the wheels in his brain stop turning. Mike's eyes drifted upward, catching first the flush on Stan's skin, and then his bottom lip being bitten, and finally the hungry, glazed over look in his lovely eyes. 

Stan latched his hands on Mike's shoulders, "Shh, Mike. Let me do the talking for now."

Stan's position shifted so that his legs were on either side of Mike's. His lips caught Mike's, pulling him into a deep kiss. A hand on Mike's thigh brought out a gasp, lips parting slightly.

Stan's lips caught his in a way that was different than how they normally kissed. There was more pressure to the movements, a lovely desperation to every sound he made. Mike could feel Stan's hands shaking, and he became more worried for his boyfriend, "Stan, slow down."

The curly haired boy pulled back, his face flushed even darker than before. He said in a nervous tone, "Are you okay with this?" The way Stan bit his lip, his posture...it was obvious this was something he wanted, especially in this moment. And Mike would be lying if he said that the way Stan's heated breath felt against his lips wasn't driving him wild.

Mike nodded, "Yeah, just, be calm, okay? Take it slow."

Still apprehensive, (Mike didn't want to hurt Stan in any way, and he wasn't sure what to do in the first place), Mike nudged Stan off of his lap. He sat up straighter on the bed, his legs criss crossed, "Okay, what do you want to do?" 

He knew that Stan liked to have a plan for everything; he could only assume that his boyfriend would have a list of things he wanted for this, as well. 

Stan replied with a cracking voice, "Not...Not all the way... I'm not ready for that yet, but...Just something."

That brought a sigh of relief from Mike. He wasn't sure he could go that far, either. "Okay, why don't you-" Mike's eyes dipped down from Stan's needy gaze to his chest. He reached out, hands fumbling with the end of Stan's shirt, "Why don't we take this off?"

Stan allowed Mike to remove his shirt. When it was off, Mike placed it neatly on the bed, knowing that it'd bother Stan if he were to toss it to the ground. 

Mike looked over to Stan again, swallowing the lump in his throat that formed when his eyes grazed over Stan's chest, pale except for the deep pink across his pectorals. Mike licked his lips, wondering what Stan must've been doing to already be in such a hot and bothered state.

Mike shifted his position, subconsciously rubbed his thighs against each other. 

Inching forward, Mike pressed his lips against Stan's again. He brought a hand up to tangle itself in Stan's curls. His boyfriend said with a heated voice against his lips, "Pull my hair."

Mike blinked, pulling back from Stan enough to look at him. He found himself biting his bottom lip. Mike pushed Stan gently so that he was laying flat on his back. His hand still tangled in the tight curls, Mike gave Stan's hair a light tug, enough to make the boy under him whine.

"Was that alright?"

Stan nodded fiercely, "Ye-Yeah, like that."

Mike made another tug, this one a little bit sharper. Stan's eyes were squeezed shut. Mike watched with wonder as Stan's hand moved to palm the front of his jeans. 

Mike dropped one of his hands down, placing it over Stan's hand, applying more pressure on the tent in his jeans. A shudder raked through Stan. 

Mike got another idea. He lifted his hand just enough to set Stan's free, "Move your hand."

Stan was eager. He did what he was told, going so far as to place both of his arms over his head, pinned in place on the bed. Stan's beautiful brown eyes watched Mike as he untangled his fingers from Stan's hair to tug down the brunette's jeans. 

Stan's hips lifted upward to help complete the action, and before either of the two of them knew it, Stan's pants were in the same pile as his shirt. 

Mike was beyond nervous, but he was sure he knew what Stan wanted. Just to be completely certain, he asked Stan if he was okay with him touching him, to which Stan answered by nodding all too quickly.

Mike tugged at the top of Stan's boxers, reaching in his underwear to pull out Stan's cock. Stan whined at the touch Mike offered him - long strokes up and down Stan's shaft; sometimes he'd remember to brush his thumb across the tip, knowing that that always created extra stimulation.

Stan struggled to keep his arms pinned over his head, "O-Oh, shit, Mi-ike." His thighs wanted to press together, as if that would help him. He felt himself nearing the edge; Stan cried out when Mike's free hand gingerly touched his balls. 

Mike's face was flushed and if he was being honest with himself, he was practically drooling. Stan was falling to pieces in his hands in the best way possible. Mike couldn't believe that he was the one who was making Stan like this. He dipped his head down, in between Stan's thighs. He kissed at the soft, inner parts of Stan's legs, leading his mouth up to the base of Stan's member. 

Mike lifted his head up, his hand now squeezing Stan's balls, the other massaging his boyfriend's chest. Mike tentatively took just the head of Stan's cock in his mouth. The moan that fell from Stan's mouth was worth it.

Mike tried it out more, taking more in his mouth until he decided he couldn't anymore. He went back to stroking the base with his hand, bobbing his mouth up and down the parts he could fit.

He dropped the hand that had been on Stan's stomach to his own thigh. He unbuttoned his jeans enough to put his hands in his pants. He gave himself a relieving rub. 

Stan's curses came out in groans, his thighs starting to tremble. "Mike, sh-shit, I'm so close, fu-uck."

Mike took that as a sign to pull off of Stan's cock, licking the shaft instead until Stan was a mess. The brunette came, his chest heaving, thighs tense and tired. 

Mike sat up, pulling his hand out of his jeans, embarrassed that it had been there in the first place. Stan pushed himself into a sitting position, eyes connecting with Mike's before they dipped down onto the awkward bump in Mike's jeans. In a familiar, almost witty fashion, Stan breathed, "Want me to take care of that? I can go another round." 

Mike opened his mouth to speak, cut off with Stan's lips crashing onto his. 

His third crush.

Mike guessed that it's true when they say that the third time's the charm.


End file.
